Star Mage1 made this postulation about the episode 'The End'. So kudos to them for the idea!
Yes, yes, I know, you readers are all thinking with narrowed eyes 'oh, this episode again, what's this idiot going to do?', I reassure you that it will only be as idiotic as the author myself (so no great assurance there). What if Sam didn't say yes and Lucifer found a loophole? I mean, c'mon, he is Lucifer, he's not dumb, he's gotta have a back up plan!
"We don't need him."
There was a thud, dirt lifting in the lilac sweet air of a little Missouri town.
"Shouldn't we kill him?"
Two figures stood in an unlit doorway, staring down the two short wooden steps at the small figure laying in the dust.
"No, let him live, consider it payment for that petty but indomitable gift of freewill my father saw fit to bestow on humans. Let him live to regret ever telling me 'no'."
There was silence as the figure on the ground stirred, a cry escaping through their lips. There was the sharp snap of wings and one figure disappeared, the other wavered before collapsing to the ground dead, the demon's twisted soul rent in two by the archangel.
Folk, Missouri had never seen excitement, laying along the Osage river it was a few fields and a small community. Then it had shattered. Or really in a strange sense it had been preserved, like when a bug is trapped and pinned against a board, a fragile preservation, stiff and unnatural but essentially the same. Folk was exactly the same in this very moment, stiff and unnatural, cars parked and the late summer sun beating down on the slow flowing Osage. Corpses could be smelt making their way into the third day of decomposition. But everything else was untouched.
A lanky boy was stumbling down one of the rural roads, his clothing spotted with blood and dirt. He passed a house, a woman collapsed on the gravel driveway. He ran, stumbled awkwardly, to the body and crashed to his knees. Trembling fingers pushed against the corpse's throat despite its bloated form. The boy yanked his hand back and stared in hopeless shock at the body.
He stared at his own limbs, awkwardly lifting an arm. He was a thin boy, about fourteen, not very tall and of no great physique. He had curly blonde hair and blue eyes. A small nose and weakly handsome face.
He stood sometime later, pushed not by the warmed smell of death that wafted to him in putrid breaths of breeze, but rather by the thought that this was just the first of Lucifer's acts.
Dean had been told it had all gone down in Detroit, that was what he believed, and it was a lie. Detroit seemed more fitting then Folk, but it did not make the reality any different or it any less of a lie. Lies however were of no consequence anymore, the world had erupted. The outbreak of the Croatoan virus first sparked an international movement to aid the USA then, as no cure and no efforts to quarantine were effective, the world withdrew and attempted to prevent their own destruction.
Dean didn't care about that anymore, as soon as the news had reached him he had headed to Bobby's. Then they had gotten Jo, Ellen and a few other people who would join them. It had been a traveling group of survivors until supplies, necessity, death and the overwhelming barrage of croats caused them to hole up at what had once been a kids summer camp: Chitaqua.
"Bobby!?" Dean shouted out, slapping the door open and walking into the cabin.
Bobby was seated in his wheelchair looking sallow and tired.
"Dean," he answered back, sass dripping in his voice as it had always done. It was a reassuring anchor.
"We've got more comin' in," Dean said, eyes flicking about the room.
"More? Any of 'em-" Bobby broke off, letting his question trail.
Dean shook his head, knowing what Bobby meant. His life had once been about protecting innocent people, saving the lives on the edge and sinking into the background so he could see their happy simple lives continue. This though, this had just been death and more death. As Chitaqua had been established through the basic heavy lifting of getting it into shape to fend off the croats and house people, it had been receiving many refugees.
"No, mainly women and children, a few men but nothing we can use, just-" Dean fell short himself, his moral tongue stopping the next words.
"More mouths to feed," Bobby finished the brutal reality.
"We don't have much," Dean said with a dark barking laugh, "I'm not sure we can, well, that we can keep this up."
Bobby let out a sigh but he looked at Dean with a tight yet booning smile.
"We're gonna do what we need to do."
Dean gave a nod then looked up as someone rapped at the door. It opened a moment later and there was Duke, a Memphis patent lawyer who had joined them when they'd run into him and his daughter trying to survive. Dean tried not to think of Sam who once upon a time had wanted to be a lawyer.
"Dean, where do you want the new group once we've got them fed?"
"Cabins F-H, get a few people working on finishing gutting them and cleaning them up," Dean replied.
Duke took the order with a grain of salt and hesitated at the door. He was a tall man, strong and intelligent and someone Dean unequivocally depended on.
"Of course Dean," Duke stepped out and shut the door.
"We're gonna build more, women can do stuff and kids can too, and they aren't as rowdy as the men, we should be asking to get in more women and children rather then men," Dean defended desperately, cutting a glance at Bobby.
"Dean, ya don't gotta convince me, this is why we're here, these people gotta have somewhere to go," Bobby said with a smile.
Dean smiled back.
Sam remembered those months of desolate wandering. He had thought they'd been desolate, filled with living, breathing people who he watched move about. He had fended off Lucifer in dreams, screamed through torture, cried through bitter reminders of his past doings and stoically survived Lucifer's gentle croonings. He hadn't attempted to call Dean, that last conversation enough condemnation to last him a life time.
Lucifer had found him though, a woman with a cancer ridden baby catching him off guard and selling her soul for a cure. He'd spent another few months being tortured till he barely knew his own name. All of this until one day a fourteen year old boy had been tossed onto the ground, distantly connected to the right bloodline, John Winchester's cousin's kid. Sam hadn't had the energy to understand the child's relation to him. All he knew was that it satisfied something that Lucifer needed. He'd left his battle weary, scarred but familiar body for a small, trembling teenage one. It had been all too simple for a 'yes' to spill from the lips that had once been his.
Now he really did wander in true desolation. He ran into either individuals infected with the Croatoan where he quickly relearned how to shoot a gun at 5'2" and how to stitch a wound up with nothing, or he ran into no one, the world empty and filled with death instead. Sam couldn't help but think about the fact that it was his fault.
Dean's smile did not last when one of the women several hours later murdered half of her cabin, the croat virus taking her over, Bobby had been in there helping to situate the children. Dean had buried him, refusing Duke's and many others' offers for assistance to help dig the grave. He had them dig the others.
He took the Croatoan virus much more seriously, a quarantine put in place immediately, despite some shouting that they shouldn't even provide the benefit of the doubt and just shoot all who stepped into their camp with an injury.
People kept coming and Dean made acquaintances, lost the few friends he had and clung to the hope that one day he was going to put a bullet between his brother's eyes.
Sam was traveling through northern Missouri, the Belgian Malinois he'd found in Kansas City and named Bear tumbling alongside him. He came upon a dirt road and walked it only a short ways before a jeep came jerking down it. Sam tried to scamper from the road but it was too late. He raised his gun but dropped it as soon as he saw the person who got out of the jeep first.
"Bear, d-down!" Sam stuttered out, causing the dog to heel but doing nothing to stop him from baring his teeth and growling.
"Drop it, kid!"
Sam dropped his gun immediately, eyes not believing the image he was seeing. That was Dean, his brother Dean.
"You don't keep that dog under control and I'll put a bullet in its brain," Dean warned, edging closer.
Sam immediately flung himself around Bear, holding him close and whispering in his ear in hopes to calm him down. For the last seven months Bear had been the only positive interaction Sam'd had. The one group of humans he'd run into had tried to rape and kill him.
Dean was glaring down at him, a gun pointed at him menacingly. For a split second Sam forgot that he wasn't in his own body and thought that Dean was about to shoot him in the head.
"Please," Sam said quietly, because one of his fears was Dean being the one to kill him. He didn't expect to be exempted from the justice of execution, but he hoped that it would never be his brother.
He had his face buried in Bear's fur and could hear and feel his soft growls.
"I'm not gonna hurt you kid."
Sam hadn't heard that gentle of a tone from Dean in a very long time. Sam lifted his head and saw that Dean was tucking his gun back into his pants.
"You get that dog of yours to behave and we'll take you somewhere safe," Dean reassured.
Sam gave a nod and scratched Bear's head.
"My name's Dean, everyone else you see back there is from Camp Chitaqua," Dean explained, kneeling down so he was on the same level as Sam.
"I'm Sam," Sam said out of habit, immediately regretting it as he saw the quick flash of pain in his brother's eyes.
"This is Bear," Sam rubbed Bear's ears, "Dean's a nice guy Bear, he's gonna help us out, shake 'kay?"
The dog held up a paw and Dean shook it with an amused smile.
"Seem's like he's trained real well."
Sam nodded, when he'd found Bear the dog had been half wild. He'd coaxed the starved animal with cans of dog food from an abandoned mini-mart. They'd made fast friends and Sam had quickly learned that Bear was well trained and responded to commands in English.
Sam stood up, Bear at his heels, and he got into the Jeep feeling as if everything was going to change for the better.
Dean had been surprised by the kid they found. He was scrawny as hell and was wearing tattered clothing. They'd taken him back to camp and thrown him in quarantine. Dean hadn't really paid attention until he had the kid shoot some cans. The boy stood with the familiarity of someone who had spent a lifetime around guns and he had a wicked shot. Despite his moral qualms the boy was stuck on the raiding team. He needed someone who could shoot.
Their first raid the kid handled himself very, very well. He didn't hesitate in shooting, didn't flinch at the blood and had an instinctive response to the whole situation that made Dean wonder if the kid had been raised as a hunter. He didn't ask, didn't question, it didn't matter, the kid was good for raiding and that was what Dean was going to use him for. He had a camp to run.
Sam didn't know what he expected. One part of him had hoped he would have a strange chance to bond with Dean, to be a support for his brother, especially as he saw every successive day chip away at the Dean he knew and leave behind a stone cold stranger. He stayed in a cabin with a single mother and her five children. Her husband had died on one of the raids and Sam had been helping her out. A few other orphans were in there as well. Sam helped teach them how to use weapons and helped the mother, Emma, with her little personal garden in the back. He didn't see Dean except in raids where he made his brother's safety a priority. Other than that though, Dean was a stranger and his life consisted of the people in his cabin.
"Take care Sam, you come back because Lord knows I can't handle all these kids without you," Emma said, patting Sam's cheek and kissing his head.
"You take care to grow up before you get yourself killed, little boys like you can't die."
Sam smiled, not a dimpled one, but it had all of the qualities of his other self.
"Yes ma'am."
Emma hugged him tightly, gripping him like she wouldn't let go before she stepped back and brushed a hand through his hair. He hadn't grown in the last few months and he hadn't gained any weight. It had been difficult adjusting to having no physical mass and not much physical strength. When he had turned sixteen in his old body he had shot up and since then he had only grown. The body he was in now was nothing like his other.
Bear shoved his nose into Sam's hand and Sam squatted down, hugging his dog and giving it the command to stay and protect. He headed out, meeting up with the small raiding party. Dean was in the front seat and surprisingly, Castiel was next to him. Sam got in, squishing in next to Castiel at the order of one of the other men. The angel turned and gazed at Sam. Sam fidgeted under the stare. Castiel looked forward, side glancing at Sam once more. Dean saw it.
"He's better with a gun then he looks," Dean reassured, taking the awkward stare to be judgement at Sam's age, "and we gotta take what we can get."
Castiel said nothing and Sam shrunk in on himself, hoping Castiel's powers had faded after Lucifer's violent take over and Heaven's complete cut off from Earth. The jeep rumbled as it drove out, headed towards what had once been civilization.
They arrived in some city, it's streets littered and unkempt. They parked and two of the men were left with the jeep while Castiel, Dean, Sam, and Josiah headed into the grocery store. So far it appeared safe, which wasn't necessarily a misleading sign as some runs ended up with them not meeting anyone. Sam moved down an aisle with Castiel following silently behind him. As soon as Dean and Josiah were out of sight in the Walmart, Castiel turned to Sam.
"You are not who you look like, I recognize your soul Samuel Winchester."
Sam shifted, scared and unsure of what to do.
"It seems Lucifer has done what none of us expected; that a vessel should stand in his way was a silly thing to hope," Castiel said morosely, more to himself than to Sam.
There was a beat of silence.
"Don't tell Dean," Sam asked, hands sweaty.
Castiel contemplated Sam, gauged the nervous posture and saw the great amount of faith the man before him still had.
"I don't care what you do," Castiel dismissed, turning to continue their hunt.
Sam felt hollow at that. Castiel had changed, he was hopeless because Heaven had given up on the little planet their Father loved. They had the cosmos to look to and their many problems amongst themselves; human survival and their fallen brother mattered not at all. It appeared that Castiel did not care either.
They continued searching the already partially ransacked store, gathering what items they needed most desperately. They had done two trips between the Jeep and the store and were on their third when something happened. A group of people came running at them, knives in their hands and one with a gun. They weren't croats, croats didn't use weapons they used teeth and hands.
The only attacker with a gun got off two shots before Dean took him out. The rest of the four men threw themselves at the Chitaqua group. They weren't experienced and they were malnourished, but they fought with ferocity. Josiah went down, a knife ripping through his throat. Sam saved Castiel, the angel struggling through his slow loss of grace and stumbling backwards as one of the attackers savagely swung at him, and took the man down. Dean had taken out two men and was fighting the third but the last man was sneaking up. Sam didn't think about it, he threw himself in the way and tried to block the knife. He wasn't quick enough and it ran across his chest, but he did save himself from being gutted. Sam stumbled back, his body not able to take blows like his previous one. Dean however had seen and quickly dispatched the last.
Sam collapsed and Dean quickly picked him up, bridal carrying him to the car. Sam felt his head spin, maybe he had misjudged how much he'd been hurt. Everything was slipping away. Something sharp against his face caused his eyes to flicker open.
"Stay with me kid, c'mon Sam, no going to sleep, I promised Emma, I'm getting you back alright," Dean spoke, his hands steady and firm, eyes clear and capable of functioning.
It was so unlike when Sam usually was injured, his big brother was either shaking in his voice or shaking in his hands. Sam missed his brother. With one hand he flailed out, hand fisting in Dean's shirt. Dean didn't look at him, instead turning his head.
"Castiel! Get over here, I'm gonna need some help," Dean barked.
"De-" Sam whispered out. He wanted to say sorry, to let his brother know that he didn't say 'yes', that he was right here even if he didn't look the same.
Dean didn't hear. Castiel appeared, hands reaching out for something. Sam let out a cry as the pain in his chest skyrocketed. His eyes shut.
"Emma is gonna kill me," Dean breathed out, looking down at the now adequately wrapped kid. The boy had take a bullet along with a nasty cut running diagonally across his chest.
Guilt was choking at him, because Sam looked only thirteen or so, maybe even younger, really just a child playing at a grown up's role. Castiel was holding the boy's head in his lap, running a hand through his hair. Dean hadn't seen his friend be that involved in a very long time, the angel was always either apathetic or nihilistic. Dean sent him an appraising look and Castiel glanced up to see it.
"Nice to see you still give a shit about something," Dean said mockingly.
Castiel glared.
"He saved my life, and is very brave," Castiel said shortly.
Dean frowned, seeing that there was something more to what Castiel was saying.
"Whatever you say Cas."
They rode in silence, Mark and Rod in the front still pale and shaking as their adrenaline wore off. They'd left Josiah's body. Dean was grateful the man had no one to mourn him, at the same time it pained him to know that there was no one to mourn him.
They arrived at camp and Dean seized Sam, intent on bringing him to the cabin he resided in. Emma would be able to keep him safe. They had no official medical area. Castiel stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"I do not believe Emma's would be good for Sam's health, or for Emma's," Castiel looked significantly at the bloodied teenager in Dean's arms. The cabin Sam stayed in was full of children who did not need to see the state the teenager was in.
Dean turned, taking Sam towards his own small cabin. Castiel shared it with him along with it being the storage area for most of their medical supplies and other items which didn't quite fit into the cabin they'd set aside for that sort of stuff. Dean laid the kid out on Castiel's bed and then headed out.
"Get 'im cleaned up, I'm going to talk to Emma and then update the inventory. He's gonna need stitches, I'll do that later," Dean threw over his shoulder as he stepped out of the cabin.
Castiel glared after Dean, resentful of the command, but he knelt next to Sam and began cleaning the blood away and getting him taken care of.
Sam woke once, pain casting him into consciousness, it was a familiar pain. He gasped out air and desperately sucked it back in, chest heaving. This was stitches. He saw Dean above him, carefully threading a needle through his skin and Castiel had a hand pinning him down.
Sam screamed and the pain took him back down.
"There we go, all done," Dean said, leaning back after he tied off the last stitch.
The kid was out. Castiel was watching the boy with pinched brows.
"He's gonna be fine Cas, jeez, I haven't seen you this worried about someone for a while, you know he's underage, right?"
Castiel did not rise to the verbal needling, his eyes fastened on the boy.
"I wonder what became of Sam," Castiel murmured, eyes contemplating and heavy.
Dean stiffened.
"Bastard said yes, he's an angel condom now," Dean said dismissively, standing up.
Castiel turned his head to watch Dean grab a towel and begin wiping the blood from his hands.
"We do not know all the circumstances."
Dean dropped the towel and began cleaning the rest of the space up.
"He still said yes, Cas, it doesn't matter if the guy was being tortured he should've still said no."
There was a moment of silence and Sam stirred, eyes flicking open. Neither Castiel nor Dean were paying attention.
"You hold him to that standard yet you yourself were crippled under the torture of Alistair."
"This is not about me!" Dean roared, dropping what he was working on and ferociously turning on the angel.
"That fucking bastard said 'yes', tortured, not tortured, who gives a fuck, he burned the world and when I meet him again I'm going to put a bullet in his head to fix it!"
The room sat in stunned silence. For the first time, Dean and Castiel noticed Sam. The boy looked gutted, like someone had just informed him that his entire family had died. Dean took it for pain.
"Let's get some vicodin in you kid," he offered, brushing off Castiel's arm that tried to get his attention. The boy flinched under his touch and Dean took it for pain.
"You'll be alright Sam, we're gonna take care of you," Dean reassured, the boy curled away at the words and Dean took it for pain.
Sam was in a bed most of the time, still in Castiel's and Dean's cabin. Dean was busy so Castiel generally kept him company and tended to him. One day Castiel came back with a small baggie. Sam was half asleep but his eyes opened as Castiel occupied the chair next to the bed.
"What's that?" Sam asked.
Castiel looked up from the bag he was inspecting and didn't say anything.
"Cas, what is that?" Sam asked again, brow furrowing.
"A woman who recently joined us assured me that it would erase my difficulties, I find it difficult to believe," Cas was still inspecting the bag.
Sam's frown deepened and he put his hand out. Castiel looked in surprise at the hand and then at his bag. He handed it over. Sam opened it and saw white powder.
"She mentioned that I must ingest it by means of breathing it in through my nose, I am unsure of how this would erase my difficulties."
Sam shook his head, quickly closing the bag.
"They're drugs Cas, don't take them, they're not good for you," Sam said, hesitating before deciding on not giving the bag back to Castiel.
"Drugs?" Castiel queried, peering in confusion at Sam.
"Don't ever do them Cas, they are not the answer. If-If you feel hopeless or like-or that you can't get away from the bad, you tell me, alright?" Sam said fervently.
Castiel appeared confused by Sam's fervor, but he agreed. Sam relaxed.
Several months later Sam was on a raid, Dean was next to him and they were fighting off croats. Sam kept fighting until one got him, biting down viciously on his throat. Sam killed it but the damage had already been done. He collapsed to the ground sucking in breaths and wheezing them out. Dean got to him first, having been closest to him as the fighting ended.
"Hey kid, you're gonna be alright, okay?" Dean reassured, but he wasn't making any efforts to save Sam.
Sam knew, he was going to die. He wanted to speak. He tried to say he was sorry, but the words came out gargled and incoherent. Dean was cradling him, offering comfort. Sam tried again. Words wouldn't come. Tears streaked down his face and he reached out for Dean, wanting his brother to be his brother at least in his last moments. Dean sort of was, but it was ruined by the fact that it was all for a stranger.
Castiel came into his blurring vision.
"No! No! You cannot die Samuel!" Castiel cried out, pushing Dean to the side and taking Sam in his arms.
Sam felt the brief touch of grace, something he recognized from his time with Lucifer. But it was too weak. Castiel whispered apologies. They'd grown very close, Sam giving Castiel back the hope and faith he'd lost. Sam had rekindled the desire to beat Lucifer and to fight against all odds. Dean looked on with a pained face, hurting at the fact that the boy was dying and the fact that one of his remaining friends was being devastated.
Sam's eyes slipped shut and he regretted.
Lucifer felt frustration rise as the body he occupied worked but did not work. He flexed a hand, fingers curling into a fist. He had power in this body, it did not decay and it did not fail him. Something was missing though, something important. The weak soul adjoining him made the difference. It seemed Sam Winchester as a whole was needed. Anger was not a becoming feature on the archangel's face. He screamed and grace tore apart everything near him.
In Luverne, Alabama an old woman woke up, this time with laugh lines etched in her face and dimples to be found. She stood up, arthritis flaring, and she stepped out of the abandoned house she was in, her one goal to return to Chitaqua.
Again, thanks Star Mage1, I appreciate you letting me borrow your idea and wreak havoc with it.