Hello fandom. So I am going to get myself, if not a few of you through this hiatus by writing my own Season 8 AU. I hope you like it. Leave feedback, leave ideas, I am ok with making this a little bit collaborative. WE WILL SURVIVE UNTIL THE FALL I PROMISE YOU GUYS.

Things you should know before you get involved: Eventual Destiel, most likely eventual rating change. Team Free Will feels in every direction. Also the arrival of some old friends.

I own nothing except the character Arin and my own bucket of feels.

Don't cry. Don't fucking cry. You can't fall apart now. There's work to do.

Sam repeated the mantra in his head until it turned rhythmic. Still, his hands were shaking as he pushed open the door to the outside. He was walking willingly into a horde of demons. More specifically, he was walking into a horde of demons without Dean.

Sam twitched as he considered grabbing the demon blade tucked in his coat pocket, but he decided against it. The demons were there to help him with the Leviathans; he had no reason to threaten them. Anyway, if they wanted to him take him down, they had the numbers to do it with very little effort. Sam didn't consider that the worst possible outcome.

Grouped behind the front gate of Sucrocorp were a hundred bodies, staring up at him through a hundred pairs of unblinking black eyes. Sam shuddered, then drew himself to full height, and let his voice boom authoritatively over the crowd.

"Dick Roman is dead." A pause, to let the words sink in. "The Leviathans are inside. They don't know what to do without a leader. We need to make damn sure we take them all down before they figure it out."

Sam indicated a section of the group. "Find machetes, knives, anything sharp enough to take a head off. Also find borax. You are going to throw borax on anyone you come in contact with and make sure they are really a chomper before you harm them. They've been running experiments here, and some people in there might be human. If you come across any humans, you let them go." He made sure his tone left no room for argument.

"If you encounter a Leviathan, separate the head from the body, put it in a bag, and bring it back here. We're going to make sure the heads end up as far away from the rest of these guys as possible."

"You," Sam indicated another part of the crowd, "are going to blow up the Sucrocorp laboratory."

"Why would we bother with that?" a demon up front demanded.

The phrase"because I made a promise"died on Sam's tongue.

"They've been doing work here that should never see the light of day," he said instead. "Believe me when I say this is in everyone's best interest. You have your assignments. Come report to me when you're done."

To his amazement, the demons obediently broke into their groups and headed towards the front door in an efficient and orderly fashion. Sam trusted that Crowley had given him a capable work force, so he left them to do what they did best. He had something more urgent to attend to.

A screech came from the shadows and Dean fumbled back against a tree. His breath was coming in gasps, and he couldn't see anything but the occasional glow of red eyes flashing between the branches. His skin prickled. There was a low growl somewhere nearby, and Dean swore he felt something breathing down the back of his neck, but when he spun around to face it there was nothing there.

With a shudder, Dean pressed his back flush against the tree beside him, and squeezed his eyes shut briefly to collect himself.

"Crossing purgatory off my list of honeymoon destinations," he muttered to himself. "Dammit Cas, where are you?"

There was a loud snap! and Dean grabbed a branch off the ground to defend himself. Castiel's parting words echoed in his mind:It's more likely we'll be ripped to shreds. Well, that was fine for the broken angel, but Dean wasn't going out that easy. He definitely wasn't going to go out being hunted like some common freak.

The growl was right beside him this time, and Dean swung blindly in the direction of the sound. The branch made hard contact with something, and that something got pissed. There was a snarl and the snap of teeth. Dean turned and found himself face to face with a very angry looking wolf.

Dean swore and swung his stick again. The blow caught the wolf -"Werewolf, probably, "Dean's brain registered - across her muzzle, and she whimpered slightly before rounding back and grabbing the branch with a determined bite. Eyes wide with terror, Dean planted his feet and pulled back, but the wolf dislodged the weapon from his hands with a few easy shakes of her head and tossed it. Her eyes locked with his, and she bared her teeth and snarled before advancing on him.

Suddenly, there was a familiar rustling sound, and a flash of light. The wolf whined and fell over, a long blade protruding from her side.

"Cas," Dean breathed his name, relief surging through him at the familiarity of the tattered trenchcoat. Then his eyes fell to the object in Castiel's hand. "Is that an angel blade? Where did you get that? Where the hell have you been?"

"The blade was here. I don't know how or why." Castiel stepped forward and withdrew the blade from the body, wiping the blood off on a nearby plant as he did so. "Angels don't go to Purgatory. Some other creature must have fallen with the blade in hand. I heard it calling to me and went to retrieve it. I thought you'd be able to manage on your own for a few minutes."

His eyes flicked down to the werewolf corpse, and he let the "apparently not" remain unspoken between them.

Dean shifted awkwardly and nodded his thanks. "Right, well you didn't happen to stumble upon a super juiced up weapon for me too, did you?"

"I did not. You will have to rely on your wit and cunning for the time being."

Dean threw Castiel a glare before bending over to pick up the stick from where the wolf had dropped it. With a grimace, he poked at her body, still lying in a heap on the ground.

"Is she really dead?"

"No," Castiel answered. "Beasts of Purgatory never actually die. They tear each other apart, then come back to do it again, a little more broken than before." He looked sadly down at the fallen wolf. "In effect, every time you kill a monster here, you're just creating a worse one."

"But that's not all bad, is it?" Dean asked. "It means we can't die."

"You and I don't belong here. Our spirits - soul, grace, whatever they may be at this point - are not designed to acclimate to this world. If we die here, we die for good. No heaven, no hell, no second chances. Just oblivion."

"Well then that sounds like something to avoid." Dean sighed and took a moment to digest his surroundings. "No use standing here like sitting ducks waiting for she-wolf to wake up. Let's pick a direction and start walking."

Castiel looked from the stick in Dean's hand to the sword in his own.

"Perhaps it would be best if I walked ahead."

"Yeah why don't you do that," Dean muttered. Castiel oriented them, and they started deeper into the forests of the damned, with Dean throwing bitchfaces at the back of the angel's sassy, self-righteous head.

The Impala sat patiently where Meg had left it, surrounded by broken glass. Sam stepped gingerly around the shards, his hand sliding across her body in an almost soothing motion as he bent down to inspect the damage. Not bad, all things considered. Her front left headlight was shattered, and there was some pretty serious denting on the hood and bumper, but it all looked superficial. It seemed like Meg knew how to crash a car with class.

Meg, right, he should figure out what happened to her.

Sam slipped into the driver's side of the Impala, grunted in annoyance when he had to adjust the seat, closed his hands around the wheel, and inhaled deeply. He had missed this car. She was Dean's baby, sure, but she was the only home Sam had ever really known. This was where the Winchester boys had grown up, and, come to think of it, the Winchester men had done a fair bit of growing up in these seats as well. Sam's chest ached as his eyes fell on Dean's cassette collection. He wondered briefly if Dean and Baby had gotten a chance to say goodbye.

Sam turned the key that was dangling forgotten in the ignition, and the engine began to purr softly in response. There was comfort in the smooth vibration of the seat, but Sam couldn't bring himself to smile.

"Going somewhere?"

Sam jumped. His hand automatically went to the butt of his holstered gun, and it was halfway drawn before he processed the sight of an unarmed girl standing next to the open window of the car. He relaxed, though not completely. He recognized her; he'd seen her only moments before.

"No, I'm not. I just wanted to make sure she was all right."

A smirk pulled at the girl's lips, and she flicked her dark brown eyes down the length of the Impala.

"She? A bit attached aren't we? It's just a car."

"She's my brother's car," Sam corrected. "And she's important. I don't expect you to understand. You don't strike me as the caring type."

"Rude," she quipped, but her voice held the faintest trace of laughter, and her eyes danced as Sam stepped out of the car and stood over her.

"Oh yeah? How old is that girl you're riding? Seventeen? I might care too much, but at least I care about something."

"Demon," was her reply. She blacked her eyes to make the point. "Empathy isn't really in the job description."

Sam frowned at her but said nothing, just leaned back against the Impala and did his best to look threatening and nonplussed.

"You can call me Arin, since you didn't ask." Sam didn't respond. "And you're Sam Winchester. They used to tell us stories about you. Lucifer's vessel. You were going to help lead an army out of hell. The Boy King, our great salvation. Lucifer valued you so. Your charisma, your intuition, that great mind. Seeing you in front of that crowd, I can see why he did. You're so like him, Sam. They saw it too."

"They're all following Crowley's orders," Sam retorted.

"No," Arin persisted. "You spoke to them as a leader."

"I'm not your leader," Sam hissed. "And I've been entangled with enough blonde demon bitches for a lifetime, so you can save it."

"Fine," Arin said with a shrug. "I wouldn't trust me either, I get it. Mostly I'm curious though. You rally demons to fight your monsters for you, and then sulk off to sit by yourself in a broken car. One might be led to think the man doesn't fit the legend."

Sam met her eyes, regarded her with a calculating stare. Her eyes were brown again, and Sam processed for the first time her demure smile, the way she had her white gold hair pinned back from her face. Arin held herself with just enough poise to come off as innocent, though there was a subtle snark about her that betrayed the blackness in her heart. Manipulative, Sam's brain finally settled on the right word. This girl was a master manipulator, and Sam really wasn't in the mood to have his strings pulled.

"What are you fishing for?" he asked.

"I know you aren't hiding. I think you're plotting. I just want to know what. We already have the Leviathans."

"I'm not plotting anything."

"Please." Arin tilted her head condescendingly.

"Why do you care?"

"Why I care isn't your concern. But I am about to walk in and take down a bunch of creatures that can kill beings a lot more powerful than me without batting an eye. I think you could spare me a little honesty."

Sam clenched and unclenched his jaw. "My brother is gone. Crowley has him, or at the very least knows where he is."

Arin nodded. "I don't doubt it. Crowley knows everything."

"I need him to tell me."

"And how exactly do you plan on squeezing that information out of our beloved king?" Arin asked.

"Haven't gotten that far." Sam pushed off the car and gave her a curt nod. "But when I do I'm sure you'll be the first to know."

"Sam!" Arin called after his retreating form. He pretended not to hear her.

Castiel was a soldier.

Castiel was a lot of things, but he had been a soldier first. Even with a few screws loose, he could still rouse at the battle drums if he was needed. He had proven that much with Dick Roman. Purgatory was hissing like a furnace from the shadows in every direction, waiting to descend on them, waiting for one of them to let their guard down. Castiel didn't care much about his own life at this point, but he had no intention of leaving his friend to fight the shadows alone.

The show of loyalty was not lost on Dean. He followed Castiel closely, stick clutched firmly in his hand, feeling for the first time in a long time like he had an angel watching over him again. Maybe he was a little rough around the edges, but Castiel was there, weapon in hand, shoulders hunched, jaw set, and there was no one Dean would rather be stuck in this other worldly abyss with. Sam perhaps, but the shadows howled and he really couldn't bring himself to wish Sam was with them. At the very least Sam was safer where he was.

Hopefully.

Castiel stopped short and his hand reached back to press against Dean's chest. Dean stopped obediently.

"What is it?"

Castiel shushed him.

"Cas?"

Castiel kept looking forward, his neck tense, his ear twitching slightly like he was registering a sound outside Dean's range of hearing.

"To your right."

Dean swung without a second thought. Whatever he was swinging at managed to duck, and then kicked hard against Dean's hand. With a cry he'd never admit to making, Dean let go of the stick he was brandishing and it fell to the forest floor with a soft thud. Damn it, he was getting really sick of these freaks disarming him.

The snarky thought cost Dean enough time for said freak to grab his wrist, and twist it up behind his back. A second hand wound around his throat. Castiel stepped forward, knife poised threateningly at Dean's captor, but Dean saw the slightest bit of uncertainty flash in the angel's eyes. He wasn't going to attack, not while Dean was being used as a shield.

"Call off your dog, Winchester." A voice hissed in Dean's ear. He knew that voice. God damn it. No. Not him.

"Gordon?" Dean asked, trying to twist his head around to see if he was right. He gave up and looked ahead to meet Castiel's eyes. "It's ok, Cas. I think." Castiel lowered his blade, but didn't take his murderous eyes off of the thing manhandling Dean. "Gordon, is that you?"

The hands holding Dean captive let go, and Dean stepped quickly over to where Castiel was, rubbing his wrist with annoyance. His eyes blinked rapidly as he tried to convince himself that it was not Gordon Walker, standing in front of him grinning like a hungry wolf. Well, hungry vampire, technically.

"Dean Winchester," Gordon crowed. "Is that really you? My my, what mess do you have yourself in this time?"

His eyes fell to the blade in Castiel's hand.

"And what are you doing with my knife?"

Sam stood with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans as the demons began to pile bags containing Leviathan heads in a small mountain at his feet. Each demon looked at him for approval as they made their offering, and he gave each one a nod before they went back to work.

It shouldn't feel like such a dizzying rush, Sam knew, but he couldn't help it. He was getting off on the power trip. Every dirty piranha that a demon split in two was falling in his brother's name. These demons that he'd hunted, and been hunted by, were willingly and obediently following his orders. He knew why, of course - Crowley's command, common enemy and all that - but seeing these dirty cockroaches all but on their knees for him? Yeah, Sam liked that a little bit.

Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, Lucifer laughed gleefully.

"Winchester." Sam turned and saw a well-dressed demon coming towards him with a file in his hand. "We found this in Dick Roman's office. It seems like most of the Leviathan were here today, but there's a few dozen still scattered around the world, mostly in major cities."

Sam nodded, giving the file a cursory perusal. "Organize a few teams to take them out, but be discreet. Some of these guys have taken on big name faces. We don't want to cause a global panic."

The demon didn't seem too concerned with the concept of a global panic, but he agreed anyway. "The explosives team also says the lab is ready to go."

"Take the bodies these heads came from, and put them in the lab," Sam directed. "And then bring the detonator to me."

Most of the demons scattered to take care of the remaining Leviathan, but fifteen or twenty still remained by the time the makeshift bomb switch was pushed into Sam's hand. Arin, he realized, was not among the crowd. He tried not to let himself dwell on it.

"All right," Sam called out to his small but attentive audience. "You guys ready to see a show?"

He thumbed the trigger for a moment, the smallest trace of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

"This one's for Kevin Tran," he said so quietly he was sure no one else could hear him. "Advanced placement."

And then he pushed the button.

The explosion was deafening. Warmth washed over Sam's face even from where he stood, and he could feel the winds pushing his hair back. It was beautiful. Smoke rolled from the windows in huge fiery clouds, flames leaped into the air, and loud groans sounded forth as the foundation of the building started to weaken from the blast. The mission was successful. The Leviathans were dead, the lab was burned, Dick Roman's empire had fallen.

Sam turned back his entourage and gave them a stone-faced nod of appreciation.

"You guys did great, thank you. Do something with these heads, pour them in concrete, put them at the bottom of the ocean, I don't care. Be creative; just get them far from here. Otherwise, our work here is done."

The demons nodded and dispersed. Sam looked up at the ruins of the Sucrocorp lab once more, smiled, then headed back in the direction of the Impala.

The closest motel was about a fifteen minute drive away, but Sam didn't remember the trip. He didn't remember paying for his room. He didn't remember what name he had given them - that was something he should try to recall at some point - or whether or not he'd gotten dinner on the way back. All he knew was that he was now standing in the middle of a motel room, duffel bag slung around his shoulder, staring down at two beds.

He had gotten a double room. Of course he had. That's what happens when you let yourself go on autopilot, habit wins out. Sam thought about going back and asking for a single instead, but he honestly couldn't remember what name he'd checked in under, and he really didn't feel like explaining his mistake to the receptionist. They'd probably charged him already, anyway.

Sam walked over to the bed farthest from the door and put his duffel bag down on it before kicking off his shoes and curling up above the covers on the other bed. Dean always put himself closest to the door, ever since they were kids. If anything came bursting in, he was going to make sure he was the first line of defense. He would stop it before it got to Sammy; that was his job. At this point Sam didn't even know if that was still a conscious thought, but that was still how they slept.

Now, Sam laid there fully dressed with his arms wrapped around what would have been Dean's pillow. He pulled a knife from his jacket pocket and stuck it underneath the other pillow, under his head, where he could draw it easily if by some chance he needed to. He doubted he would. Still, always prepared.

With that thought, the tears started falling from Sam's eyes. He choked out a loud sob, not needing to worry if anyone heard him. No one was around to care.

Dean picked his stick up, with the intention of using it to violently smash in every one of Gordon's fangs.

Gordon laughed. "All right big guy, you'll have plenty of time for that. How about first I show you guys the way to some shelter?"

"What shelter?" Dean demanded, fixing his grasp on the stick in his hand. "This place doesn't seem to be swimming with convenient hidey holes."

"Convenient, maybe not. But there's always a place to hide if you know where to look."

A look passed between Dean and Castiel, but both knew they were in no position to argue. There were unseen beasts in every direction, and there was no use in waiting around for them to pick up the smell of fresh meat. Still, there was hesitation in Dean's eyes as he silently begged Castiel to think up an alternative. Gordon could be leading them anywhere, but after a long moment of silence, they both agreed with a short nod that it couldn't be anywhere worse than where they already were.

"Thank you," Castiel said finally.

"Yeah well you can thank me when we get there in one piece. Fall in line and keep your guard up. I've got a set up not far from here."

Dean and Castiel obediently - albeit begrudgingly on Dean's part - positioned themselves behind Gordon and held their respective weapons at the ready. As Gordon started to lead them down the path, Dean had the presence of mind to make introductions.

"This is Cas, by the way," Dean said, indicating the angel on his right. "Castiel, to you. Cas this is Gordon. He's...an old friend of the family."

"Castiel," Gordon repeated thoughtfully. "I know that name. I've heard whispers of you around these parts. You're an angel."

"I am," Castiel confirmed. Gordon let out a dark chuckle.

"Angels. That's something I never came across in my day. Can I ask you something?"

Castiel grimaced, though only Dean saw it. "I expect you're going to either way."

"All the hell that was loose on God's green earth - if angels exist, which apparently they do, thought I can't say understand the wardrobe." He cast a glance down Castiel's white hospital scrubs. "Where the hell were you guys?"

"As a general population angels are what you might call...giant dicks," Dean explained with his usual tact. "I just lucked out and apparently my personal angel has a rebellious streak."

"So Dean Winchester gets a messenger of God on his shoulder, and me and my sister get this." Gordon's tone remained even, but Dean could observe the tension building in his shoulders. "Can't say I'm on board with this God character."

"We're not heading up his fan club at this point either," Dean agreed. "Did you ever find her, your sister?"

"Once. I had to let her go. By the time I got here she was...it was too late. She's somewhere in the shadows now."

No one said anything for the rest of the walk.

Gordon's shelter turned out to be a small cave carved into the side of a hill. Some brush blocked the entrance, and Gordon pushed it aside to let Dean and Castiel enter, then replaced it behind him.

It didn't look like much from the outside, but the inside of the cave was enough to get a low whistle out of Dean. The place was fully stocked and loaded. Piles of food had accumulated against the back wall, and the two remaining walls were covered with every kind of weapon you could imagine, all held in place with makeshift twine.

"Quite an arsenal you've collected here," Dean complimented. "Where'd you even get all of these?"

"Oh here and there," Gordon answered. "Some I made, some I found. I'm always expanding my collection." His eyes fell hungrily to the blade in Castiel's hand.

"This belonged to one of my brothers," Castiel said firmly. "It is staying with me."

"I have no quarrel with you, angel. If it's important to you, you can keep it." Castiel nodded his thanks. Gordon shrugged and added: "A Leviathan fell with it in hand awhile ago. I tried to use it on a shifter and I guess it got lost in the shuffle somewhere. I'm glad you recovered it; I'd rather you have it than one of those things out there. That's a powerful blade."

"A Leviathan?" Dean asked.

"Leviathans can kill angels," Castiel reminded him. Dean didn't miss the sad gaze Castiel cast down on the blade as he cradled it more gently now in his grasp.

"Leviathan can kill anything," Gordon added. "We were lucky to be rid of them. A few fall here and there, my best guess is that they're killing each other when they do. For the most part they're your problem now. Or, whoever's left up there."

Dean and Castiel exchanged a look, and Dean felt his heart ache. Sammy.

Gordon sat down on the floor of the cave and looked up at Dean expectantly. "So how'd you end up here, anyway?"

"That's a really good question," Dean answered. "The best I can figure, we took a wrong turn somewhere."

"Funny," said Gordon. "I hate to tell you this, Dean, but funny won't help you here."

Dean's responding smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "And what will help me here, Gordon? You?"

"I was considering it."

"And why would you do that?"

"What are you, Gordon?" Castiel cut in. "You aren't like the lost souls out in those woods. There's a...sanity, about you."

Dean rolled his eyes and ran a hand over his face. "Well, sure. If I wasn't in the Twilight Zone before..."

"It's simple, angel," Gordon replied, casting a glower in Dean's direction. "Those souls have all been ripped to shreds countless times."

"What?" Dean interjected. "You're telling me in all the time you've been in Purgatory, you've never died?"

"Never once."

"Bull."

Castiel tilted his head at Gordon and chewed the inside of his cheek thoughtfully. "I believe he's telling the truth, Dean."

Gordon grinned, and Dean shuddered at the sight of his fangs.

"You don't get it. Life here is just one big hunt, Dean. And I am a fantastic hunter."

"And I'm the one that hunted you, you bastard - " Dean advanced threateningly at Gordon until Castiel stepped between them, and grabbed Dean by the arms to slow him down.

"Dean."

"No Cas, this guy is crazy."

"Dean," Castiel said again, trying to get the hunter to focus on him. "You need to listen to me. We need to listen to him. I am not going to continue fighting for your life if you aren't fighting for it as well."

It was a lie, they both knew that, but Dean got the point. He stepped back and settled for glaring at Gordon menacingly.

"You're going to have to let go of your bigotry," Gordon said, his eyes dancing at his own prophecy. "I won't be the last...old friend, you run into here. Don't make the mistake of turning the rare person you find that isn't trying to kill you into your enemy."

"What a lovely philosophy," Dean said, narrowing his eyes. "Is that why you're helping us?"

"No," Gordon said with a smile. "You're no concern of mine. I'm just absolutely tickled you ended up here. Youwilldie, Dean. I figure if I help you arm yourself, I might at least get a decent show out of it. There's no cable in Purgatory, you see. I've complained, but..."

"You're a real class act, Gordon."

Gordon smirked as Dean grabbed a knife off the wall and settled himself against the opposite corner with his stick.

"What?" Dean asked in response to Castiel's inquiring gaze. "It's come with this far. I might as well sharpen it into a halfway decent weapon."

Castiel said nothing.

It was early afternoon when Sam finally managed to drag himself out of the motel room and throw his stuff in the back of the car. A thought struck him, and he pulled out his cell phone. He scrolled down through the contacts quickly, then leaned back against the Impala as the line tried to connect.

The sound of Dean's voicemail shouldn't have been unexpected, and the failure to complete the call didn't catch Sam off guard, but Dean's voice mocking him through the small speaker of his phone was enough to twist Sam's stomach. When the beep prompted him to leave a message, all he wanted to do was hang up and redial so he could hear Dean speak to him again, but he knew there was no point.

"Dean it's me...don't know why it took me a full day to think to call you, but...if by some miracle you get this message just... Wherever you are, Dean. Whatever happened. I'll find you. I'll bring you both home, you and Cas. You gotta help me out man, please. Some kind of sign, anything. Please. Call me."

Sam hung up the phone, feeling more alone than he ever had before.

"They say bargaining is the third stage of grief, I'd say you're moving along nicely."

Sam's head shot up and he found Arin standing in front of him, looking pityingly at the phone clutched in his hand. He tossed it in the open driver's window and turned away from her.

"I'm really not in the mood, ok? I've gotta get going."

"Going where?" Arin asked, moving with him.

"In a perfect world, somewhere you can't follow me."

"I'm not following you, I just have a message for you."

Sam met her eyes hesitantly, and was concerned by the intensity with which she was staring at him, and by the smirk playing across her lips.

"A message from who? Crowley?"

Arin scoffed. "Please. Crowley delivers his own messages. No, I don't actually know who it's from. Someone stopped me on my way back from talking to you yesterday. Gave me an address and time, told me to bring you along. It seemed important."

"That doesn't sound sketchy at all." Sam pursed his lips thoughtfully for a moment, and then shook his head. "Sorry sweetheart, I think I'll pass."

Arin smiled. "He said you'd say that."

Sam sighed. "All right. I'll bite. What did he tell you to say in response?"

"That Loki was waiting. He said you'd know what he meant."

Sam's hands curled into fists at his sides and he breathed out a light, humorless laugh.

"Son of a bitch."