"I know you think you're doing the right thing, Gabriel," Lucifer said, his voice dripping with mockery. Gabriel swallowed hard, unaccustomed fear a shadow in his mind. Was he really going to do this? There was no going back if he killed his own brother. The carefully constructed illusion he'd cast crept up behind Lucifer, precisely placed to just catch the corner of his brother's eye. "But I know where your heart truly lies."

As the fake Gabriel lunged forward, Lucifer caught his arm and Gabriel gritted his teeth as he poured every ounce of power into maintaining the false image as a solid object. His head exploded with pain as Lucifer turned the illusion's blade into his own chest and Gabriel winced. Even if it wasn't real, he didn't exactly enjoy watching a lightshow of his own death.

"Amateur hocus pocus. Don't forget, you learned all your tricks from me, little brother," Lucifer said in derision. Any pity or sympathy Gabriel might have had left evaporated. He was done with his older brother's self-absorption and how he constantly blamed everyone else for his own failings. Biting his tongue to prevent himself from snarking back and ruining the tiny window of opportunity he'd managed to create, he thrust his blade deep into Lucifer's back. It slid easily between his ribs and deep into the center of Lucifer's Grace. His brother turned his head to face him, his expression one of shock and betrayal.

"Maybe I've had other teachers too," Gabriel told him. Lucifer swayed back and forth before crumpling inelegantly to the floor. In one blinding explosion of light and sound, Lucifer's Grace flared out all around them and he screamed.

"Sammy!"

Almost at once, the chorus of voices of the Heavenly Host erupted in Gabriel's head as every angel felt Lucifer die. Gabriel wanted to weep too but the next sound, a crashing bang that sounded like a hundred lightning bolts all striking in the same place, told Gabriel he needed to get the Hell out of Dodge. Michael was coming, and probably Raphael too. And despite what he'd said to Lucifer about being just as willing to shiv Michael as well, in truth he had no appetite for any more slaughter.

"You're getting soft," he told himself and clicked his fingers. Nothing happened. Fuck .

Dean pressed the accelerator almost to the floor and the Impala fishtailed as they roared out of the parking lot. Sam turned to Kali, who was sitting sulkily in the backseat, her eyes burning. She kept looking over her shoulder at the rapidly retreating motel. He wasn't sure what Gabriel and Kali had meant to each other, in the end. But he had made sure Sam and Dean would take her with them, and that had to mean something.

"He'll be OK, you know," he said to her. "He'll figure out some trick and make Lucifer think he's dead or something. He's done it before." She turned her head to glare at him.

"Gabriel?" she asked scornfully. "What makes you think I care?" Her pose was rigid and her hands flexed alarmingly.

Sam gulped, her temper was not something he wanted to arouse. "I thought you guys were close at one time."

"Bah," Kali spat. "A few brief encounters does not make a love affair." Her tone turned suddenly wistful. "But he was fun." Sam wasn't sure that was better than her anger. A sudden loud rumbling sound interrupted that thought, the car bucked and Dean swore as they spun out of control. He fought to grab the wildly rotating steering wheel as they careened off the road and rolled twice before landing in a ditch. Lightning bolts struck the ground at several locations all at once.

"What the Hell?" Dean gasped. The ground was shaking and shifting, jostling the wrecked car from side to side. Sam's head was throbbing from being slammed into the roof as they'd rolled.

"Maybe you were right," Kali commented, not a hair out of place. "Seems Gabriel managed to get the jump on Lucifer after all."

"What?" Sam cried.

"Oh come on," she sneered, gesturing around them. "Don't you know what all this chaos means? Lucifer is dead ." She climbed daintily out of the crumpled vehicle and spread her arms, her face alight with exhilaration. Lightning split the sky and although the earthquake appeared to have stopped, Sam still had a sense of impending doom. She smiled at them both and then vanished upwards into the storm on a fiery bolt of pure energy.

"Dude," Dean breathed, his voice ragged and labored. "What the Hell?"

"I don't know," Sam said helplessly. He shook his head and levered himself out of the passenger seat, his body aching and protesting. "Are you hurt?"

"Not bad," Dean said, wincing. "I might have-" He went white and his eyes closed. Sam hobbled around the front of the car and opened the driver's side door. "I think I broke a few ribs."

"OK, don't move," Sam said, alarm mutating into outright panic. "We don't want you puncturing a lung as well."

Dean swallowed hard against the pain and gave a small nod. "Right. Uh, what do we do? Call Cas? We haven't heard from him in days."

Sam twitched at the idea since Cas was never more than coolly polite towards him and openly hostile on occasion if Dean was out of earshot. But they couldn't call an ambulance, so what else could they do? He pulled out his phone and dialed the angel's number. It rang and rang and then the automated voicemail service picked up.

"Uh, Cas? It's Sam. Dean's hurt, we had an accident. Dean's in really bad shape and we need help."

He hung up and hoped desperately that Cas would pick up the message soon. He considered calling 911, but that would draw an awful lot of attention to them, both human and celestial. Out of options, he dialed Bobby's number and to his relief the old man picked up on the first ring.

"Yeah?" His voice was gruff but warm, and Sam felt a surge of affection for the man he thought of as a surrogate father.

"Bobby, thank God," Sam breathed. "Something major's gone down. Dean's hurt and the Impala's wrecked."

"All right, where are you?" Sam gave him directions. "It'll be a couple hours boy, this storm's knocked out the power and we had an earthquake here, can you believe?"

"Uh, yeah," Sam said, thinking about what Kali had said. "We might have had something to do with that. Indirectly."

"What?"

"It's a long story and we're still not sure what happened," Sam deflected, too worried about Dean and confused about the sequence of events to try and explain it now. "Just hurry, please?"

"I'm already rolling," Bobby told him and hung up.

Gabriel knew he had to get out of this hellhole but apparently, he'd sunk all his Grace into that fight and it had left him temporarily drained. Michael would tear him a new asshole if he caught him here but his disguise might just give him enough of a pass to slip away unnoticed, especially with his Grace so depleted. There had been a lot of humans here and not all of them had survived. Maybe his luck would hold out and one of them would have left a car here with a set of keys.

He hurried out into the parking lot and saw three vehicles. Somebody was smiling on him today, surely. The Mustang and the Toyota had very security conscious owners, alas, but a slightly battered looking Ford pickup very helpfully had a spare key hidden in a magnetic box stuck on the inside of the engine compartment. Gabriel had never actually bothered to learn to drive a car before, but he understood the basic principles. Humans managed it all the time, how hard could it be?

It wasn't a moment too soon either. Just after he swerved onto the highway, he'd felt the buzz of Michael and Raphael's Grace as his brothers arrived. Three separate explosions made the windows of the truck rattle alarmingly. Oh, Michael was pissed. Gabriel had known he would be of course. His tight-laced older brother took his responsibilities very seriously. Still, it wasn't like him to let it all hang out like this. In fact, even when Lucifer first rebelled, Gabriel didn't remember Michael actually losing his temper. He'd seemed more resigned than anything. He shook his head. No time to puzzle about it now. He needed to find somewhere to lay low while he recovered. Unfortunately, that didn't leave him a lot of options.

Raphael kept his face carefully blank as he and Michael picked through the wreckage of the motel, the bodies of dead humans and Pagan gods strewn about the place like some kind of gory decoration. He recognized Lucifer's handiwork at once and his lip crinkled in distaste. Why did he always have to make such a mess? But he had more important things to worry about right now. Michael's behavior had been growing more and more erratic and even though he'd finally listened to Raphael and taken on the substitute vessel of Adam Milligan, it hadn't seemed to improve his mood. If anything, it had made things worse. He bitched constantly about Dean Winchester's recalcitrance, alternating between vivid descriptions of the punishments he'd rain down on the annoying human's head and pathetic complaints of rejection and loss. It had taken every ounce of will not to roll his eyes at his older brother's dramatics. Honestly, for all their protestations, Lucifer and Michael were very alike in some ways.

Michael had come to a sudden stop at a pair of double doors, his body rocking backward and a strangled sound erupting from his mouth. Raphael moved forward cautiously and peered over his brother's shoulder. It was lucky his vessel was much taller than Michael's, he thought meanly.

Lucifer lay on his back, his wings burned into the cheap wooden laminate flooring and his eyes were closed. The vessel he'd been inhabiting was looking the worse for wear, the strain of hosting an archangel had manifested itself in his very skin. Raphael thought it looked like he had a disease. In the center of his chest was a large, recognizable wound in the shape of an archangel's blade and Lucifer's blade lay just out of reach of his fingertips. Raphael blinked twice, trying the reconcile what he was seeing with a plausible scenario. Had someone managed to wrest Lucifer's blade from him and murder him with it? Only Michael came close to meeting Lucifer's fighting skills and the idea that anyone lesser could possibly best his brother was almost sacrilegious. Unfortunately, he couldn't come up with a better explanation. His gaze flickered over to Michael, who was standing still and silent.

"So it's true," Raphael said, more to have something to say than any real desire for conversation. "Lucifer's dead." Raphael was well aware he was not known for his oratorical mastery but that sounded lame even to him.

"Who?" Michael said in a strangled voice, his hands clenching into fists. "Who has done this?"

Raphael spread his hands. "I can't even begin to imagine. No human, surely."

"You think a demon did this?" Michael said, deceptively soft and incredulous.

"A Prince of Hell, perhaps," Raphael suggested. "The Minions of Hell aren't known for their loyalty. Maybe one of them decided they wanted the throne."

"At the price of derailing the Apocalypse?" Michael suddenly shrieked and Raphael took a step back in alarm. His brother brought his arm back and threw a ball of pure Grace like one of those human baseball players, an overarm swing that caused it to arc up and land in a corner with a thunderous explosion. Splinters of wood, shards of metal and glass and burning paper rained down all around them. Boom! Another ball of Grace slammed into the opposite wall, leaving nothing but a smoking crater. And a third whistled past Raphael's ear, singing his vessel's hair and turning the corridor into a fiery inferno.

It was a dramatic display of grief and rage, and to Raphael's mind, utterly pointless. "Brother," he said quellingly. "There's nothing more we can do here."

Michael sank to his knees next to the rotting vessel of Lucifer, reaching out and stroking his fingers down his face. "My brother is dead!" he declared as if Raphael hadn't noticed. As if he hadn't lost a brother too. But hadn't Lucifer had been lost to them long ago? Why couldn't Michael see that? And yes, the foretold Apocalypse would not proceed as originally envisioned. But without their leader, razing Hell would be a cakewalk and they could still install Paradise on earth. An end to humanity and its pitiful muling. Raphael certainly wouldn't miss it, the smells, the whining and the constant, self-pitying begging for inconsequential favors.

"Michael," he began and his brother gave him a dangerous look, his blade sliding into his hand. Raphael gulped, concern morphing into genuine unease. Michael was losing control. "I'm not the enemy here."

"No?" Michael asked in that soft, terrifying voice more frightening than the display of temper. "How am I to know that this wasn't you?"

Raphael's jaw dropped in astonishment. "I've been with you the entire time," he protested. "I was there beside you when we felt him die!"

The accusatory look on Michael's face faded and Raphael had to fight the urge to slump with relief. He held his hand out to his brother and gave him what he hoped was a sympathetic look. "We'll find them. Whoever did this. If you want to, we can investigate, find the perpetrator. Make them pay."

Michael nodded, his eyes reddened and watery. "I… Yes." He straightened and wiped his face with the back of his hand, sniffling and blinking. Finally, he regained control over himself and nodded sharply. "Excellent suggestion. I'm putting you in charge. Find my brother's murderer and then we shall see justice." Raphael barely suppressed a groan. Why couldn't he have just kept his mouth shut?

As soon as Bobby rolled up in his truck, Sam dashed over and pulled the surprised old hunter into a hug. The wait had been interminable. Sam had given Dean the last of the whiskey and it had done little to numb the pain. His brother was normally stoic in the face of injury, but he didn't typically have to ride it out for hours in surprisingly icy rain.

"I've never been so pleased to see anyone in my life," Sam declared. That wasn't quite true. Of course, he was delighted Bobby was here. The Impala was undrivable and they were miles from anywhere. But he secretly wished it had been Cas who'd answered his call for help. Without angelic assistance, Dean was looking at a long, slow road to recovery.

Bobby pushed him away with an affectionate grin. "Idjit. Help me out of this truck." Sam unfolded the wheelchair and assisted Bobby out of the driver's seat. "Now where's yer brother?" Sam wheeled him over to the ditch where the car had finally come to a halt and Bobby gave a grunt when he saw the wreck.

"That chassis will be bent like a banana," he muttered. "I think she's done."

"Don't say that," Sam said in a low voice. Privately, he agreed but this was not the time to worry about it. "Dean's gonna be pissed. It's all I could do to get him to stay still while we waited for you."

Bobby met his eyes and nodded. "How bad is he hurt?"

"Bad," Sam told him. "He's broken several ribs and some of them are badly out of place. They'll need setting or he could puncture a lung."

"Jesus," the old hunter wheezed in shock. "I ain't a paramedic, boy. Where's that angel friend of yours?"

"AWOL," Sam replied. "I've called and left several messages. But if Kali's right and Lucifer's dead-"

"Hold on a second!" Bobby snapped, grabbing at his arm. "Talk about burying the lede! Lucifer's dead ?"

"We don't know for sure," Sam hedged. "But we think so, yeah. Kali seemed certain."

"And what's she doing mixed up in all of this?" Bobby asked. "Pagans don't usually mess in Heaven's business."

"It's really a long story and you'll need a drink," Sam advised. "Make that several drinks. Can we just get Dean squared away first?"

"Right," Bobby said, steering himself over the rough ground to the car. Dean had his head back and his eyes closed. Sam had gently reclined the driver's seat as far as it would go to try and make his brother comfortable while they waited. Apparently that had worked too well since Dean seemed to be asleep. But his eyes flew open as soon as Bobby approached.

"How are you feeling?" the grizzled old hunter asked.

"I'm fine," Dean gritted out. "Sam's overreacting. But his face was pale and sweat beaded his top lip, clear indicators of the pain he was in.

"OK, well, we're gonna have to push those ribs back into place, and it's gonna hurt like Hell," Bobby told him. "And all I got for the pain is whiskey." He produced his hipflask and handed it to Dean with a grimace. Dean took it silently and swigged down the entire contents.

"Do it," he said.

"There's a chance we could make things worse," Bobby warned.

"Don't tell me that," Dean huffed. "Just do it." Bobby beckoned to Sam and he came and knelt down beside them.

Bobby took a deep breath and poked his fingers into Dean's side, locating the misaligned break. Shaking his head, he pulled out his knife and handed it to Sam. Sam sliced open Dean's t-shirt and cut it away from his body.

"We need to do this in sync or it's not gonna work," Bobby explained to Sam, showing him how he needed to manipulate the ribs on his side of Dean's body. Sam tucked his knife back into his belt and leveled a look at Dean. "On three," he said. "One, two-" He and Bobby pushed hard, manipulating the pieces and exhaling with relief when they snapped into place. Dean yelled in pain, his eyes rolling back in his head and Sam winced, but yelling meant his lungs were still working. He almost sagged with relief.

"Sam, we're gonna need some bandages so you can wrap Dean's ribs to stop them popping out again," Bobby told him. Sam nodded and headed to the rear of the car to find the first aid kit in the trunk. On inspiration, he also searched through Dean's duffel bag and found a half-bottle of bourbon hidden at the bottom.

Keeping his voice low, Bobby murmured to Dean, "Sam said Lucifer is dead. Is that true?"

"We don't know," Dean said weakly. Pain and alcohol were both taking their toll. "All we have to go on is the word of a pagan god neither of us trust."

"Pagans," Bobby spat. "All right, boy. Just rest easy there." He placed a hand on Dean's chest to keep him still as Sam returned with the bandages.

"Is there any more to drink?" Dean said plaintively. Wordlessly, Sam handed him the bourbon and Dean accepted it with a grateful smile for his brother. He unscrewed the cap and began chugging it down.

"Take it easy with that, willya?" Bobby said. "Sam don't wanna have to carry you."

Dean ignored him and finished the bottle, dropping it onto the car floor and breathing out heavily as Sam wrapped the bandage around his chest following Bobby's instructions.

"OK," he said finally. "That should hold you for now. Let's get you boys back to my house and we'll figure out what to do from there. Sam, get the chains from the back of my truck and we can tow this sorry piece of shit back with us."

Dean muttered rebelliously under his breath at Bobby's slandering of his Baby, but quickly shut up when the old hunter glared at him. He'd rebuilt the Impala before, he could do it again.

A few hours of driving had taught Gabriel two things. One, his Grace wasn't going to recharge in a hurry and two, driving fucking sucked . It took forever to get anywhere. How did humans tolerate it? He pulled over to consult the map the truck's owner had helpfully left in the glovebox and mulled over his situation.

He needed a place to lie low and that meant somewhere warded against other angels. But although he could certainly find some abandoned building and paint on the necessary symbols, it would take time and he'd be vulnerable in the meantime. Not to mention that warded locations can themselves attract attention, appearing like black holes in celestial senses. That was to be avoided, if possible. If there was somewhere that was already warded, that would be preferable. He frowned as that thought sank in. He was only aware of a few locations that were close enough to be useful. There were a few demon lairs dotted about, but he could hardly rock up to the door and ask for sanctuary. The word sanctuary tickled at the back of his mind, something Castiel had said once.

Thinking of Castiel immediately crystallized the thought. The Winchesters had a friend, Bobby Singer. His home in South Dakota was warded against everything, including angels after Sam had let dear old Luci out of his cage. Castiel had rebelled, he thought. Maybe he would help Gabriel now that he'd joined the team, so to speak, convince Bobby to let him hang out there for a few days until his Grace recharged.

Closing his eyes he connected cautiously with the mass consciousness of the Heavenly Host. It was a risk, since he was supposed to be dead or at least missing with no hope of return. But nobody was actually looking for him, so he figured he was safe as long as he didn't do anything flashy. Last time he'd seen Castiel, the seraph had been falling and Gabriel had been astonished at how calmly his brother had been accepting that fate. Careful observation of his interactions with Dean Winchester revealed the truth, even if the two muttonheads seemed entirely oblivious. Thinking about Dean inevitably meant thinking about Dean's brother, Sam. Too smart for his own good, that one. And so easy to wind-up and set going. He grinned in remembrance of Sam's exasperation and grim-faced determination in the face of increasingly ridiculous situations when he'd trapped the brothers in TV land. He shook his head, he was letting himself get distracted and that was not wise while he was plugged into the Heavenly Matrix. He focused again and this time he felt something. It was almost imperceptible, Castiel's Grace was low, but nonetheless unmistakable.

Having located Castiel, he withdrew from the hive mind and then considered his next move. His Grace was too low for direct contact, but some of his pagan abilities still seemed to be working, albeit weakly. It should be enough for communication. He concentrated on the faint pulse of Castiel's Grace and sent his message.