.-.-. Falling.-.-.-.

Summary:

With the memories of what happened merely two months ago still burning freshly in Dean's mind, he's trying his hardest to make sure his biggest secret remains just that, a secret - from the entire world. But when you're the Devil himself… how long can you keep yourself and your brother safe from a demon with other plans in mind? Sequel to Lucifer.

Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or anything associated with the show.

!NOW COMPLETE!NOW COMPLETE!NOW COMPLETE!

A/N: Hey! So after finishing Lucifer, I decided there were places that I really wanted to go with that story but never got the chance to and so I now introduce The Falling, sequel to Lucifer. It follows on two months from where Lucifer left off - set before All Hell Breaks Loose of Season 2.

And a nice long chapter to kick us off, I really hope you enjoy.

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Garden of Eden

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It wasn't raining. That was a plus. But it had been, so the ground was already soggy enough to be called a mud bath. The wind whistled through the nearby trees, rustling the leaves and branches as it did so before circling the Winchester brothers and forcing them to shiver against the cold it held. But they'd sharp warm up when they started digging up the grave of a Mr Nathaniel Jacobs.

Right nasty son of a bitch in life and death. Rearranged the furniture in the middle of the night, tossed plates and any other projectile type weapons he could at people and murdered three women in cold blood... And that was just whilst he was alive.

Since dying, his spirit roamed through his house, angrily tormenting the new occupants until they moved out and then when more people moved in, he did the same to them, time and time again until at the very least fifteen families had passed through his home during the past twenty years. But he hadn't killed anyone until the month before.

One of the china plates he'd thrown across the room had impaled one of the occupants after smashing and even though it didn't kill them there and then, they were pronounced dead on arrival at the hospital - taking his overall body count up to four.

And his attacks just kept getting worse, more violent by the day until no one dared even enter the house.

So Sam and Dean were out at Primrose Cemetery looking to burn themselves a poltergeist.

Taking a step forward, Dean slipped along the mud, barely managing to keep his body upright as he held his arms out to steady himself for a moment. He cursed out loud, hating the rain more than ever for soaking the ground the way it had. "That's it! I give up! We're coming back and doing this another night."

"The great Dean Winchester, afraid of a little mud." Sam laughed from behind his brother, the movement causing him to lose his footing and he fell forward, grabbing hold of Dean to stop himself from landing flat on his face. He smiled sheepishly as Dean glared at him.

"Says the klutz who's using me as a leaning post."

"Well, it is a little slippy." Sam admitted, steady enough again that he could let go of his brother.

"A little?" Dean scoffed, shrugging himself completely free so he could force his feet out of the mud, that was slowly sucking him down, and forwards in search of Jacobs' grave, "That's 'a little' bit of an understatement, don't cha think?"

"It rains all the time here at this time of year Dean. It rained yesterday, it rained today and it'll rain tomorrow. No matter when we do this, it'll still be just as wet and just as muddy."

"So what, you're a weather man now? Or is this those freaky powers of yours talking?" Dean sniped, readjusting the strap of his pack with one hand as he used a flashlight in the other to search the names on the graves.

Sam rolled his eyes and caught up with his brother, matching him stride for stride as he used his flashlight to search the graves on the opposite side, "No Dean, the little pink fairy who sits on your shoulder told me."

"Yeah, well right now it's telling me to kick your ass for letting you talk me into this." He growled in reply as his flashlight hovered over a grave, the name bold and clear though a little worn by years outside in the weather. Yahtzee. He dropped his bag and clipped his brother round the back of his head before resting the flashlight on the ground so he could pull out what he needed, "Time to dig fairy boy."

"It's your turn Dean." Sam grumbled, rubbing the back of his head even though it didn't hurt as he tried to pass the shovel to Dean but his brother refused to accept it, instead checking the shotgun was loaded.

"Nah ah Sammy boy, I'm on watch. This dead dude is so severely pissed off I wouldn't put it past him to try and stop us from salting and burning his bones."

"You're kidding me, right? His house is over five miles from here. He ain't coming."

Dean clicked the gun shut and raised an eyebrow, "That ever stop 'em in the past?"

"Fine." Sam groaned and moved to start digging, tossing a quick glare at his brother before taking a deep breath.

Grabbing the flashlight, Dean straightened up and searched their surroundings for anything out of the ordinary. The shadows danced and squirmed away from the light, creeping backwards and hiding from Dean's ever moving eyes. He heard Sam muttering complaints and heard the shovel squelching and digging into the ground, the soft mud making the task even harder for the youngest Winchester.

Everything was calm and for the time being, normal. But he didn't relax. He refused to let his guard down until those bones were salted and burned and he was back at the motel, fast asleep in his bed. Even then he couldn't truly relax, constantly looking over his shoulders, checking every nook and cranny of every room and laying down as much protection as he could without Sam getting suspicious.

He didn't even know what he was trying to keep out half the time. Demons… hunters… nightmares…

Two months … it seemed like an eternity ago and yet at the same time felt like it was only yesterday. It had been two months since he was forced to remember his past life, two months since that personality took over, two months since he'd almost lost Sam and two months since he'd tried to end the world.

But the way everything was… the way Sam acted, the fact that the youngest didn't even remember… it helped make him feel like none of it happened, like it had all been just one bad dream. Yet the empty and aching feeling still remained; the guilt that tortured him daily and nightly as he thought about his acts.

Dean Winchester. That's who he was. Dean Winchester. Not Lucifer, not Satan, not some demon, not some fallen angel… he was Dean. Dean Winchester.

"Dean!" Sam called out, a growl etched underneath to show his frustration.

Dean blinked, snapping out of his daze and looked down blankly at his brother as Sam cocked his head to the side waiting for some form of reply. "Wha?"

"You're meant to be on guard, remember? Not daydreaming." The youngest heaved an irritated sigh and turned away, once again resuming his digging.

"I know that." Dean pouted, denying the fact he'd drifted off into his own little world.

He shifted his body, rolling his shoulders and readjusting his grip on the shotgun before leaning against a gravestone, eyes once again skimming the shadows before falling on his brother as he watched the youngest work. His insides squirmed and a small voice in the back of his head once more suggested telling Sam what had happened, but a louder more sensible voice told him that when the time was right, maybe he would tell Sam but only if it was absolutely necessary.

My burden. My secret. He thought to himself. It's not fair to put that on Sammy… not fair to put him through that; once was enough… I can't do it again.

The wind picked up a little more, circling them once again and causing a few dead leaves to rise from the ground and float on the current. His body stiffened and he raised his shotgun, pushing himself off the grave so he could make another sweep of the darkness. He heard Sam pause in his digging and could feel the younger man's gaze on him.

He nodded without looking to let Sam know he was aware of the sudden change in the atmosphere, letting him know it was okay to go back to work. The digging resumed, the shovel hitting the mud at almost the same time that a squelching of mud and leaves echoed through the night from behind Dean.

Spinning on the spot, he aimed the shotgun at the thin air where the sound had come from, waiting in anticipation. Waiting… waiting… Ready to fire. Ready to - oh crap!

The hairs on the back of his neck warned him a fraction of a second too late, Jacobs was already there, mere inches from him, staring into him. And just as he began to turn to face him, the ghost swept its hand out, lashing out at Dean and sending the eldest Winchester crashing towards the gravestone he had been resting against moments before.

The side of his head cracked hard against the stone, white spots dancing in his vision as he tried to recover before the ghost attacked again. He rolled over, grimacing internally as the mud soaked his jeans and jacket, attempting and failing to raise the shotgun as he realised that the knock had also injured his arm.

No problem. He growled; switching the gun to the other hand and firing immediately, smiling triumphantly as Jacobs dissipated. He dragged himself up, using the grave as support and readied himself for another attack. The flashlight flickered and died on the ground, leaving the brothers with only the dim moonlight to see by.

"Hate to say it Sam…" He started, wincing as he tried to move his right shoulder. Dislocated maybe? "But I told you so."

"You okay?" Sam asked, torn between helping his brother and torching the bones of the mad ghost.

"I'll be fine if you get those bones before he gets me." Dean replied, taking a deep breath to steady himself. Damn it.

The white spots continued to dance in front of his eyes and he would have attempted to swipe them away if Sam hadn't been watching him so closely. He sighed, and looked his brother in the eye, "I'm fine Sam. Honest…"

Sam nodded and Dean watched as he reluctantly returned to the task at hand. Nearly there Sammy, you're nearly there.

When Jacobs came for him again, he was quicker to react but his already injured arm and head made his movements slow and clumsy. He slid on the mud, landing with a slurp as the ground took a hold of him. He grimaced against the filth, cursing the weather yet again and pushing himself up from his hands and knees, applying more pressure to his left in a vain attempt to keep check of the pain. But Jacobs was waiting and the ghost forced him backwards, causing him to land hard against the ground.

He lay like that for a moment as he tried to make a plan, the shotgun sitting neatly just out of reach. But before he had the chance to even make an attempt to grab it, he felt his body being dragged away from it and away from Sam. Ghostly fingers dug into his neck, choking him as the force lifted him up now and sent him flying towards the nearest tree.

His body slammed into it, winding him and leaving his mind reeling as the fingers dug deeper, stopping the airflow. He made to grab at his neck uselessly before thrashing against Jacobs' power, giving up on that too. Sam was calling for him, he was sure he was, even though the sound of his blood pumping in his ears drowned his brother out.

Jacobs materialised in front of him, grinning madly, staring at his latest victim, already gloating before the battle was even over. Dean glared back, his vision darkening at the corners but he could still see enough. He saw as the wild glint in Jacobs' eyes flickered to hesitation and even fear as Dean felt a burning sensation rising up in him that surely meant he was done for…

The world faded, or more accurately, it blinked. One minute Jacobs was backing away from him with confusion written on his features and the next, he was gone, a fire roaring in the background as his bones blackened and burned. With the force gone, Dean was left gasping greedily for air at the base of the tree he'd been slammed into. His senses returning to him, the pain exploding and taking over his body until he managed to grit his teeth and push it away momentarily.

"Dean!" Sam called out, landing down beside him, hands a mixture of gentle and rough as the youngest tried his best to control the fear that had spread throughout him, "Dean… are you okay?" His voice hitched as he stared down into the hazel green eyes.

"I think this is it Sammy… I think its game over." He teased, forcing his face and voice to remain deadly serious.

"Oh God… Dean."

He raised an eyebrow at his brother and used his left hand to grab Sam's as he pulled himself up. "I'm fine Sammy." He answered almost honestly as he was pretty sure he was far from fine but he was also pretty sure he wasn't exactly knocking at death's door… a few more seconds and maybe things would have been a little different however, "Nothing worse than the usual… though I'm pretty sure I only had one of you before we came here…" He continued, letting his back rest against the tree so he could use his uninjured arm to point at Sam and the double image that the head injury was causing.

"You're a freaking jerk." Sam moaned, pulling Dean away from the tree and wrapping his arm around his waist as he helped his brother walk.

"You wouldn't have me any other way."

"Well actually, I wouldn't mind you being in one piece after a hunt for once."

"Hollywood horror movie rule Sammy boy… the Hot guy always ends up in mortal danger and it's the Geek's job to save him." Dean declared; smiling as the Impala came into view.

"I thought it was the Geek's job to get captured…?" Sam asked offhandedly and Dean recognised that his brother was trying to keep him talking, trying to keep him awake.

"Nah, you're just one of a kind Sammy… the freakies are attracted to ya."

Sam shifted him and he cringed, his shoulder aching from the movement. Eyes closed tightly against the pain, he left it up to Sam to lower him safely into the passenger seat of the car, remembering too late about his mud covered clothing as he thought about how hard it was gonna be to clean the interior the next day. Damn it, another thing on the 'to do' list. If it doesn't come out, I'm blaming you Sammy.

"Dean…" His brother muttered softly, worry creasing his brow.

"I'm fine." He repeated on cue, stifling a yawn as he thought about how tempting it was just to fall asleep.

"I gotta get the stuff Dean…" Sam went on; obviously debating whether leaving Dean alone in that condition would be a wise move, "Promise me you'll stay awake. I'm pretty sure you've got a concussion…"

"Dude, seriously… five minutes won't kill me." He joked; cracking an eye open but the sight of his brother caused him to falter, "Okay… I promise. Just hurry up…"

Truth was; he was already feeling a little better. Tired… but better. Is that a bad sign? He wondered idly, closing his eye again as Sam disappeared to get their gear. He lifted his good hand to his neck, feeling the skin tenderly and wincing at the touch. Damn that Jacobs was a nasty son of a bitch… I swear if this bruises I'm gonna bring him back to burn his ass all over again. He turned his head to the side, getting a little more comfortable as he thought about the ghost, letting himself think about the look of fear that had seemed to pass across Jacobs' face.

Did he know? Did he see something… nah, impossible. How could he have? He probably just felt his bones burning…

He shifted in the seat, shuffling into a better position whilst he waited for his brother's return. With heavy eyes and a long deep breath, he couldn't help but drift; the pain easing as sleep tried to claim him. His head lolled forwards before springing back, eyes opening as he jerked himself awake, regretting it when the pain lashed out from his shoulder, down his arm and through his upper body.

Oh yeah… gotta be dislocated. He sighed, "Gonna need Sam's help on that…"

"Gonna need Sam's help on what?" Sam asked suspiciously, coming up to the Impala and dumping the gear into the trunk before moving around to Dean's side.

Biting his lip, Dean nodded towards his shoulder. Almost immediately, he felt Sam's hands on him, gently feeling the shoulder before easing Dean forward in the seat.

"Dislocated?" Sam questioned, receiving a subtle nod in reply, "Sooner we fix it, the better…"

"I know…"

"It's gonna hurt…"

"I know that Sam." Dean growled, irritable and exhausted, "Just fix the damn thing so we can get going."

Counting down so Dean had time to prepare himself, Sam did as he was told, having had to do the same procedure on both Dean and John in the past. Dean had his own memories of doing it to his brother once or twice before as well and he always hated it, no matter which side he was on. He cried out, clenching his teeth and gripping his shoulder as he tensed up and squirmed on the seat once Sam was finished.

He was thankful when the darkness came and claimed again, the Impala's engine lulling him to sleep, and he was even more thankful that Sam actually allowed him to slip into it for awhile, waking him long enough so that they could get inside the motel room and then every half hour or so after that, forcing him to answer questions.

"What's your name?"

"Pamela Anderson."

"Dean! Be serious…"

"Dean Winchester, I was born in January 24th 1979. My pain in the ass little brother is Samuel Winchester and if he doesn't let me go back to sleep he will be the late Sam Winchester."

He drifted happily; finally waking several hours later to a dishevelled looking Sam perched at the bottom of his bed. "Dude, have I never told you how creepy it is when you watch me sleep?" He asked as he dragged himself into a seated position, throwing his covers off and swinging his legs over the side.

"I wasn't…" Sam defended himself as he jumped up from the bed, frowning at his brother.

"Yeah, 'course not." Dean rolled his eyes in manner that suggested he wasn't entirely convinced, knowing it would irritate his brother. He flexed his hands and rolled his shoulders, the small voice back once more and telling him that there should have been more pain… It should hurt more than this. He agreed with the voice, his brow creasing, "How long was I out?"

Sam watched his brother carefully, quickly glancing at the clock to work out the answer to Dean's question, "Err… six, maybe seven hours…"

"Six? Maybe Seven? And you've been awake all that time?" Dean groaned, pushing himself up slowly and standing still for a moment giving the dizzy sensation in his head time to disappear, "Man, you should have woke me sooner."

"You needed to rest Dean. I'm fine… you… well, Jacobs was kinda using you as a Frisbee."

"Yeah well, next time I'll dig." He ground out, but knowing that he'd always it rather be him in this state than Sam. He caught sight of himself in the mirror at the end of the room and grimaced, his hair and skin was caked in the mud from the graveyard. Great… just great. "There any hot water?"

"Might be some left…" Sam sighed, running a hand through his own mud free hair having had his own hot shower whilst Dean was sleeping.

"Better be." Dean muttered threateningly as he grabbed a few clean clothes from his duffel and made his way towards the bathroom. He closed and locked the door behind him before Sam could even reply, letting the items drop to the floor as he strode over to the mirror.

Hands planted firmly on the sink basin, he stared at his reflection, taking in the hazel green orbs that stared back at him, tinged with fear and worry.

Two months… it wasn't long enough. It had been two months since he'd made a deal with an angel, two months since time was reset to the period before his world was turned upside down, two months since he tried to forget that he was Lucifer himself and two months since the nightmares started.

Dean Winchester... That's my name. Dean Winchester. Not Lucifer… He repeated like a mantra. "I'm Dean freaking Winchester…"

But the small voice at the back of his mind piped up, questioning his words, making him question himself. Are you really sure about that?

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