Hey! Welcome back to the Brotherhood world. Thank you all for your patience in the weeks it's taken me to get my ass in gear to finish the story and get it to you. It's here now though, and I hope you enjoy.

Jenjoremy has once again saddled up to beta this for me, and Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 have been my pre-reader/cheerleader team. Thanks so much ladies.

Chapter One

Sam was shaking so hard Dean could feel his chest juddering against his palm. His eyes were wide and there was an expression of absolute horror on his face. Dean was sure his own expression must have mirrored it.

There was a whine of noise, the sound Dean associated with angels, and it was fast becoming a roar. Lucifer was coming.

Dean tugged Sam's arm and tried to lead him to the door, but Sam seemed frozen in place, staring at the light streaming from the floor.

"Sam!" he shouted desperately. "We have to go!"

"No time," Castiel shouted, stepping into their space. He reached for their hands where they were clasped together on Sam's chest and then Dean felt the dizzying sensation of being moved through space without his impetus.

When they came to a stop, a split-second and a lifetime later, Dean found himself looking around Bobby's library. The man himself was sitting on the couch across the room, a mug of coffee in his hand and the TV playing some quiz show. He started to his feet when he caught sight of them. "What the hell? What's happened?" he asked worriedly.

Dean didn't answer. His attention was still with Sam and his shuddering body; the shaking seemed to have grown even worse since they left the chapel rather than improved.

"Sammy," he said softly, "take a breath."

Sam obeyed, but the breath was too fast; it was followed by another just as quick and another until he was panting. In contradiction to Sam's panic, Dean felt calm, icily calm as if he had been numbed. His mind fixed on one thing: take care of Sam.

He pulled out a chair and maneuvered it behind Sam. "Sit down," he said in that same soft voice, and when Sam didn't react, he spoke firmly, harshly, and Sam obeyed. Dean thought he understood. Sam didn't respond as well to emotion or kindness as he did a command. That was how John Winchester had operated most of the time. It was natural that Sam would connect with that now.

Now that Sam was sitting, Dean was less worried he would drop, but his breaths were still coming too quickly and he was still shaking. If Dean had been dealing with a child, or almost anyone else, he would have used his own breaths for Sam to measure against and calm himself, but this wasn't a child; this was Sam Winchester, and he was different.

Dean kneeled in front of him and put his hands on Sam's shoulders then shook him as hard as he could. "Sam!" he barked. "Hold your breath!"

Again, Sam obeyed. It was as if it was hardwired into him to accept commands if they were given strongly enough. After nearly three years in each other's company again, Dean had finally found the way to make Sam do what he needed. It would have made him sad had the situation been any less dire. As it was, he could only feel relief when Sam's jaws clamped shut and his breath stalled.

"That's good," Dean said. "Now let it out."

Sam did, and the next breath he took was calmer. He breathed slowly in and out, calmer and easier until Dean stopped worrying about that and turned his attention to Sam's still shaking body. There was nothing he could do to command that away, he knew, so he stood and laid a hand on Sam's shoulder. Sam didn't shrug him away as he would have once.

"Bobby, can you get Sam a drink please?" he asked.

Looking thoroughly bewildered, Bobby headed towards his kitchen glancing back at Sam over his shoulder. Less then a minute later, he handed Dean a generous glass of whiskey and Dean held it to Sam. Sam grabbed at it like he was drowning and it was a life raft, but he didn't drink. He bought it to his mouth but then lowered it again and closed is eyes.

Castiel, who had remained a silent observer until then, stepped forward and said, "Perhaps it would help you, Sam."

Sam shook his head mutely.

"What happened?" Bobby repeated his original question, demanding an answer with his tone alone.

Dean didn't know how to put what had happened into words. How could he explain angels, heavenly rooms, demon blood, broken seals, Lucifer rising through that bright light? There was nothing he could say that wouldn't destroy whatever outward calmness Sam had gained.

Castiel didn't have the same awareness. "Lucifer is free," he said bluntly.

Bobby paled. "No! How?"

Sam lurched to his feet, still pale and shaking but animated now, his face twisted with anger. "I did it! I killed her! I killed her and set him free and now the world is going to burn!" He threw his glass of whiskey at the wall, smashing the glass and spilling the liquor. "I've killed us all!"

Dean had never seen Sam like this before. He'd been angry when Dean made his deal. He had been scared when they were facing Lilith in that auditorium, and he had cried out of desperation before, but Dean had never seen him lose control like this. There was no sign of the mask. There was no inner calm to get him through. He was a man possessed and Dean was afraid for him.

He wanted the mask back, even though he hated it, because it would mean Sam was in control. As bad as things were, as screwed as they were, Dean wouldn't be so afraid if Sam was Sam again. It always felt as though they could get through anything when Sam was there, because he was the best. He would take care of it.

"Okay," Bobby said carefully, "the world is ending… when?" He glanced at the TV where a woman was jumping up and down having just won a SUV. "Doesn't seem like it's ending now."

"It depends," Castiel said.

"On what?" Sam asked sinking back into his chair and peering up at the angel.

"On how long one man can withstand. Lucifer is an angel, an archangel. He needs a vessel like any other. At the moment, he is just grace on the wind. He will not be able to act until he has form."

"That doesn't sound too hopeful," Dean said. "I know vessels aren't exactly common, but they are out there. What's to say he won't find one today?"

Castiel's mouth pressed into a thin line for a moment. "He needs a specific vessel. There is only one true vessel for him in the world now. He may be able to find a temporary vessel, but he will not be able to stay in it indefinitely. And he will not be able to fool the vessel. He is bound by the rules of our kind. We must give name to gain consent. The vessel will know who he is allowing in."

"Okay," Dean said, feeling slightly comforted. "That's not so bad. I mean, what kind of man would let the devil in?"

"I do not know," Castiel said.

"So we're banking on this vessel having a moral code and sense of self preservation," Bobby said, nodding. "That sounds a little hopeful."

"Yes," Castiel said. "Hope is important."

"Say he does get his vessel," Sam said quietly, "what happens next? Are we blinking out in a rush of white heavenly light or will he take his time?"

"Lucifer's crime was to refuse God," Castiel said. "God wanted angels to bow to His new creation: humanity. Among all the angels, there was only one that refused, and that was Lucifer. Because of that, Michael cast him out of Heaven. Lucifer will not share the planet with humans now. If he was to gain his vessel, he would destroy the world as you know it."

"Like nuke the earth?" Sam said.

"I don't think he would choose nuclear weapons. The earth itself he loves, and he will create his paradise here for him alone to enjoy," Castiel said seriously. "But he would rid it of all humanity somehow to create that paradise."

"That makes no sense," Dean said. "Zachariah was gung-ho for the apocalypse because he would have paradise. If Lucifer isn't going to be sharing, how does that work?"

"That is where Michael comes in. It is foretold there will be a battle between God's two greatest children—Michael and Lucifer. Michael must kill Lucifer."

"Well that sounds like good news," Bobby said, relieved. "We've just got to wait for Michael to do his thing and we'll be in the clear."

Castiel looked at him almost sympathetically. "If Michael and Lucifer do battle, the shockwave will be massive. Millions will die."

Sam took an unsteady breath and looked away from them all to stare out of the window. Dean thought the tremors he could see rippling through his brother were anger now and not shock.

"So you're saying it's half or all?" Bobby said.

Castiel nodded. "Yes, that is what I am saying."

Dean could feel his pulse pounding through his veins, rushing in his ears, and his stomach rolled with nausea. This was so much, too much to take. It wasn't Yellow-Eyes, which was revenge, or the deal, which was the price of Sam's life. Those things destroyed a handful of people not a world. This was everyone, perhaps, and if not, as if that was a comfort, it was millions. How were they supposed to stop that?

"I need some air," Sam said roughly. "I'll be right back."

Dean watched him walk through the back door, his steps almost staggering. He let it swing shut behind him, and for a moment, there was silence in the room.

"When he says he killed her…" Bobby began.

"Lilith," Dean said. "She was the last seal—killing her freed Lucifer. He didn't know. I didn't even know until it was too late. He thought he was saving the world. It was down to the wire and we were desperate. I would have done the exact same thing, anyone would." He looked at Bobby, daring him to challenge his words.

Bobby raised his hands. "I'm not arguing. I'm just thinking, how's he going to cope with that?"

"How's anyone?"

"No, that's not what I mean. I'm asking how is Sam going to get through this when he is already so damaged? How are we going to help?"

Dean raked a hand over his face. The same question had occurred to him. Sam had been through so much. He'd lost his mother before he could even remember her. He lost John to a deal and then watched Dean being torn apart by hellhounds. He blamed himself for all of those deaths. Now the fate of the world was on his shoulders. How was he going to keep going on knowing what he had done?

As if Sam had heard Dean's unspoken question, he answered with the roar of an engine and the skidding of tires against the gravel. Dean got onto the back porch in time to see the tail of one of the junker trucks that had been awaiting scrapping tearing away from the house toward the gate and road.

He was going to cope with it alone.

Sam was passing through Minnesota when the engine sputtered and died. He thought at first that it was out of gas, but then smoke started seeping under the hood and he realized it was a junker for a reason. That didn't defeat him though. He figured he would find a parking lot somewhere and boost another car. It wouldn't be the first time he'd done it. He'd gotten pretty good at hotwiring under John's tutelage.

He let the car drift over to the shoulder and then pulled on the handbrake. He'd bought nothing with him except the keys to the Impala and his cell phone in his pocket—which he had pulled the battery from to stop Ash tracking him. He needed nothing that the Impala couldn't provide for him now—it would contain everything needed to protect his brother and the rest of his family.

As he had listened to Castiel's explanation, he had grown steadily more nauseous at his words. The whole world or millions. Lucifer's paradise or the other angels'. There was nothing good for humanity there. It was doomed because of him.

He hadn't known—God forgive him, he hadn't known—what would happen, but that didn't make him blameless. He had listened to the wrong people and ignored the one who had spoken sense to him. Dean had tried to make him see, the Trickster had known what would happen, but he had been so arrogant and filled to the brim with the power the blood gave him that he hadn't listened.

Every time he tried to help, he destroyed. He and his father had gone after Yellow-Eyes and it had cost John his life. He had killed Yellow-Eyes and Dean had dealt to save him. He had relied on himself to stop Dean's death and he had failed. And now he had tried to save the world and it had cost everything. He was a menace to the world. He was better off dead, he knew that in his heart, but he also knew he couldn't do it. Dean would ultimately find out, and it would destroy him.

Sam had one choice. To remove himself from the lives of everyone he loved and go it alone. He would work alone to find a way to stop Lucifer and then, when that was over, he would stop. He would go somewhere he could hurt no one else and live out his years alone. And then, when he went to Hell as he was bound, he would finally receive the punishment he deserved for his well-intended crimes.

He got out of the car and started walking along the road. He didn't think about hitching into town. He didn't want to be around other people, to witness lives he had doomed.

He didn't want more reminders, as if they were needed, of what he had done.

Sam was just assessing the cars on offer in an overnight parking garage when he heard the rustle of an angel's arrival. For a heart stopping moment, he thought it was Lucifer that had found him. Then Castiel spoke in his usual dry voice, "What are you doing, Sam?"

"Looking for a car to steal," Sam said.

"Why have you left your brother?"

Sam turned away from the Pontiac he was assessing and looked at the angel with incredulity. "Why do you think?" When Castiel looked blank he went on. "I'm trying to save his life."

Castiel shook his head, looking annoyed. "I think you are being a coward."

There was a time in which Sam would have bristled with indignation at the words. He would have argued and pointed out all the things he had done in his life that contradicted the statement, but he had no energy or inclination to do it now. Castiel was probably right. He didn't want to consider it enough to form an opinion. Coward it was. Who cared anyway?

"Okay," he said. "I'm a coward."

"You're running from him and his knowledge," Castiel went on.

"I am," Sam agreed without thought. "Absolutely."

"You can't bear to look into his eyes knowing as he does what you have done."

"Yep. Bang on. Couldn't be more right. Now, do me a favor and fuck off."

Castiel grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. "What do you think you are doing?"

"I thought we'd been over this. I am stealing a car. I am driving to Pennsylvania to pick up the Impala and I am going to get to work."

"Doing what?"

"Hunting the Devil. Finding his vessel and killing him." It was an idea Sam had toyed with on the walk. If there was one vessel for Lucifer and Sam could take it out, he would spend the rest of time floating around as impotent grace. Sam had killed so many demons' meat suits that another innocent wouldn't be a problem for him morally, and it wasn't like he wasn't already damned. "Don't suppose you know who the vessel is do, you?"

"You would really kill him?" Castiel asked.

Sam met his eyes. "You're really going to pretend you're surprised by that?"

"Perhaps not," Castiel said. "You cannot kill the vessel though. It's not possible."

Sam shrugged. "I'll come up with something else then."

Castiel eyed him thoughtfully. "Perhaps you will."

"Glad we're on the same page. Now, if you're not going away, which I still fully support, can you bounce me to the Impala?"

"I will on one condition," Castiel said.

"Let me guess, I have to go back to Dean."

Castiel smiled slightly. "Yes."

Sam rolled his eyes. "Sure. I'll do that."

"You will?" Castiel seemed pleased, as if oblivious to the sarcasm.

Wondering if it could possibly be that easy, Sam said, "Yeah. I'll go back."

"Thank you, Sam." There was the disconcerting sensation of being moved and then Sam was standing beside the Impala in the motel parking lot and all hell was breaking loose.

There were shouts and the high-pitched sound Sam connected with angels. There were three men standing opposite Sam and Castiel, dressed in dark suits. Sam would have tagged them as angels even without the long, silver blades in their hands.

In the split-second it took Sam to take it in, Castiel had shoved him aside, laying a hand on his chest as if claiming him.

"I will not let you touch him, Zachariah," Castiel spat, seeming to be addressing the balding angel in the middle.

"You think I am here for him?" the angel asked. "No, Castiel. I am here for you."

Castiel's blade slipped into his hand and he stepped forward. "Take me then. I am not afraid."

"We will not take you anywhere, Castiel. We are here to kill you."

"You're forgetting one thing," Castiel said, sounding almost smug.

"And what might that be?"

"I knew you would come." Castiel tore open his shirt, revealing a sigil carved into the skin of his chest. Smiling victoriously, he raised his blade to his palm and cut across it, making blood well and flow.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," a measured voice said behind them.

Sam spun on his heel and looked into the eyes of a dark-skinned angel in a black suit. In his hand was a sword, longer than the ones of the other angels.

"Raphael," Castiel sighed, defeated.

"Banish me and I will make your favorite mud-monkeys suffer for it."

Castiel's bloody hand fell back to his side and the archangel stepped forward, his sword raised and pointed at Castiel. Sam shouted an inarticulate warning, unable to understand why Castiel was still there and not running. But even as the words left his mouth, Raphael thrust his sword forward and the blade sank into Castiel's throat. There was a high, whining noise, and Castiel's body dropped to the ground.

"Now, Sam Winchester," Raphael said, "we need to talk."

Sam's instincts were screaming at him to run, to get away, but he knew he would never make it more than a few feet if they didn't want him to. Instead, he dropped to his knees and pressed a hand to Castiel's wound.

"He's dead," Raphael said. "There is nothing you can do."

Sam looked up and smiled, satisfied for a split second. "There's this!" He slammed his now bloody palm down on Castiel's chest, right in the center of the sigil. The force ripped through the air, and Sam saw the angels being ripped away as though by invisible cords, leaving Sam alone at the side of the road with the angel's body.

He breathed a sigh of relief and then looked down at Castiel's wide, dead eyes.

"I'm sorry."

So… Don't kill me, okay? I know I probably deserve it, but remember Kripke killed Castiel, too, and he's still kicking. Show mercy. ;-)

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx