Fire and Rain

All righty, this is the third and final story in the Apocalypse 'verse. This was originally printed last year in Jeanne Gold's Blood Brothers 4 fanzine.

We pick up immediately after the end of part 2, as posted last week.

Thanks to the usual editing suspects, geminigrl11, Jeanne and K Hanna. I own nothing, reviews craved.

SPNSPN

St. Joseph's Hospital

Syracuse, New York

Damned nurses.

Sam fidgeted with the call button, wanting to call the nurse in and ask for his AMA papers—again—but knew he'd just get the same runaround he'd been getting for days: a bright smile, a pat on his arm, and a Certainly, Mr. Raimi, if you're sure that's what you want. I'll go find Doctor Pierce and bring the papers to you as soon as I can. Then the nurse would disappear. When he hit the button again, he got a different nurse, and the same blank-faced, all smiles, Stepford crap all over again.

The only thing that had prevented Sam from simply sneaking away from the hospital was the fact that getting out of the bed without help was next to impossible. Every time he tried, his cracked ribs protested painfully—which the docs didn't seem to care so much about—and he got incredibly dizzy—which they did—sending him collapsing back onto the pillow. After three tries, Sam had learned his lesson. He was stuck there, staring at four blandly decorated light green walls and a cracked, stained tile ceiling.

Pierce had him under observation for his multiple concussions, and had him on something that knocked him out completely when they gave it to him.

None of which helped his growing frustration. Dean was out there, finally freed from Hell, but ripped from Sam's grasp again after just minutes. He'd been taken by the demon Mullin, who had opened the portal in Gatlinburg in the first place. And he'd stolen the ancient book that had freed Dean.

When Mullin had escaped from the catacombs below the church campus, Dean and the ancient spell book in tow, Sam had been too injured to stop him. Had it not been for Father McBride, Sam likely would have died in the cave-in that followed.

Damn it! Sam batted the small rolling table away from the bed, sending the remains of his barely edible lunch flying. He couldn't have cared less about the mess. He'd been so close! Dean had been inches from his hand, free at last, but Sam had failed. The demon snatched Dean up and, for all Sam knew, had killed him—or worse. He didn't know whether or not people could be returned to Hell once they were released, and frankly, he didn't want to think about it. Dean had been right in front of him and Sam had been too weak to protect him.

Again.

The weight of that failure—yet another failure—was almost too much. Part of Sam wanted to pull the hospital sheets up over his head and give up. Pretend the world had stopped existing. But that left Dean out there, at a demon's mercy, and Sam was sure there'd been enough of that the past year. Dean needed him now more than ever.

Unfortunately, that brought him back to the ugly room, with its mundane paint job, and a hospital full of nurses who ignored him.

Sam snatched the call button angrily and went to jab it when Bobby's voice interrupted his furious thoughts.

"Harassing the nurses, kid?"

Sam looked up as the older hunter stepped through the door and strolled to a stop by the end of the bed. He sighed and tossed the call button aside. "I think I'm a prisoner here."

"They won't let you sign out AMA?"

"I keep asking," Sam growled, "but they won't listen to me."

"Ah. I can see how that might be frustrating for you."

Something in Bobby's seemingly understanding tone gave Sam pause. He narrowed his eyes and looked at his friend closer. "Bobby…"

"Hmm?"

That proved it. "What have you—? What did you tell them?"

Bobby shrugged casually, feigning innocence. "Nothing, really."

"Bobby—"

"Just that my fool son's head isn't screwed on right just now, that he thinks he's invincible when he clearly isn't, and that they should do everything they can to keep him in bed until he can move around on his own without falling over. The head nurse was very understanding. Said she'd take care of it."

"Bobby!"

"Sam! You're in no condition to leave. I'm just looking out for you, boy."

Sam shook his head. That was all well and good in theory, but it ignored a few very important matters. Dean, for starters, and other, more practical ones. Sam glanced at the door and lowered his voice. "Bobby, my insurance card won't hold up. As soon as they—"

"No, really?" Bobby mocked. "That's why I gave them one of mine."

"A fake card is a fake card," Sam scoffed quietly.

The elder man stared at him with a self-satisfied smirk. "I didn't give them a fake card."

Sam blinked. "What? Then what did—?" He paused, piecing things together. "You gave them one of your insurance cards?"

Bobby favored him with a look of strained patience. "Yeah. I added you boys a long time ago. Couldn't do your brother much good, I hate to say."

For a moment, Sam was taken aback. "Why—? Why would you do that?"

Annoyed, Bobby huffed and glared at him. "Because you boys are the closest thing to family I got. Now, you need to get better, Sam. The doc downplayed it, but you were almost killed."

Rest. Wait. Later. The same words over and over. Sam shook his head. The litany of delays was driving him nuts. "But Dean—"

"You won't do Dean any good if you can't move, boy. Your ribs are cracked. You've had more than one concussion within a few days, and as far as I can tell, you haven't had a good night's sleep in weeks."

Sam couldn't help but smirk a little as he rolled his eyes. "You a doctor now, too?"

Bobby didn't share his amusement. "Smart-ass."

The moment of levity faded quickly. Sam's mood fell fast when he had nothing to do but think, and that was a large part of his wanting to get moving. He rolled his head on the pillow and looked out the room's small window. All he could see beyond were trees and a rainy sky. "Do you…do you have any idea how this feels, Bobby? To just…lay here while Dean…."

"Sam—"

"He was right there!" Sam cut him off, anger rising again. "I was so close! He was…he was…"

Sam couldn't say it out loud. Dean had been right in front of him, a hand's breadth out of reach. He'd looked so lost, terrified. Sam wasn't sure how much his obviously traumatized brother had comprehended in that cavern, but he'd started to recognize Sam, had made eye contact. After more than a year in Hell, his brother had been with him again, not in some crazy alternate universe or in a dream, but physically in front of him.

Before being ripped away, carried off by a demon with some agenda Sam hadn't begun to figure out. The feeling of failure and renewed loss washed over him and it was enough to make his eyes well up with tears. What am I supposed to do?

A hand squeezed his shoulder, drawing Sam's attention to Bobby's sad, sympathetic face. "Just…get some sleep if you can. Or watch TV. Something. Ellen's on her way, and I'm trying to get ahold of Joshua. We're going to find Dean and get him back. I promise. Just…wait a little longer. Build your strength back."

Sam nodded reluctantly, watching Bobby retreat from the room. Waiting was the last thing he wanted to do, and the only thing he could. He pinched the bridge of his nose, then let his hand drift down his cheek, tracing the itching wound where Mullin had maliciously cut the right side of his face to get the blood he needed to open the doorway to Hell.

His thoughts immediately turned to Samuel—his twisted, evil counterpart he'd encountered in that parallel universe—who had sported a scar in the same place. Sam wondered if his double had gotten it the same way, freeing Dean, or by some other chain of events. Wondered if his would look the same when it healed.

Am I on the same road? Was he destined to turn into the monster that had tormented his own brother and brought his whole world to its knees? Sam had been having dreams ever since coming back through the portal, images of Dean telling him to turn back and abandon his obsession before it destroyed him.

I'm telling you to let it all go before it's too late.

Sam sighed and closed his eyes. Maybe it already was.

SPNSPN

Sam started from his sleep, jarred awake by the sound of the intercom in the hallway.

"Doctor Sardy to Room 302, please. Doctor Sardy, Room 302."

He blinked as his eyes strained to adjust to the harsh light filtering in from the doorway. Wasn't that door closed before?

It was then that Sam realized a warm, soft hand was resting on his cold forehead. For a moment, he leaned into the heat, then his mind caught up to the fact that he was now awake, and a hand shouldn't be there. He flinched away, gasping when the sudden movement jarred his aching ribs and set the room spinning.

Sam struggled to train his eyes on the hand, then tracked up the arm to the face of the person standing over him. He expected a doctor or nurse, but who he saw startled him more than the unexpected touch.

"Didn't mean to wake you, Sam."

He stared, unable to comprehend for a moment. "Sarah?"

Sarah Blake smiled down at him and spoke softly, her hand brushing his sleep-tousled hair out of his eyes. "In the flesh."

Sam had to force himself not to stare or gape in shock. The last time he'd spoken to her had been over a year before, but he hadn't seen her in almost three years, when he and Dean had destroyed that haunted painting. There had been something of a spark between them—which his brother had been quick to egg on—but it had still been too soon after Jess' death, and Sam had been too afraid to open up. He'd finally given in and kissed her, right before leaving town, but had hardly stayed in touch. A few long-distance phone calls, all before Dean died.

That wasn't what was so jarring, though. Sam had seen Sarah Blake again, just three weeks ago, in the other universe. She'd been a resistance fighter, of all things. Hard-core, gun-toting…deadly. She'd nearly executed him when she thought he was Samuel.

She had also had a son. Samuel's heir. Sam's son, in a bizarre, mind-bending way. He had tried not to think too much about it since he'd gotten back.

For a few long moments, Sam wasn't sure which woman he was looking at: the lovely art dealer from his past or the fierce rebel from his recent excursion into Bizzaro World. Her face was softer, though, sympathetic. Not worn or bitter.

The real Sarah—his Sarah, from years back—Sam decided finally. Definitely. Her eyes were innocent in a way the other woman's hadn't been. Not angry—violated—the way the other's had been.

"Cat got your tongue?" Sarah's bemused voice snapped him out of his deliberations.

Sam straightened up in the bed, stammering, "Uh—sorry. I mean…um, what are you doing here?"

Sarah's smile slipped slightly. Sam couldn't tell whether it was offense at his admittedly less than enthusiastic question, or something else. "Friend of mine works here, saw this dreamy, six-foot-four guy and a really old black Chevy that stands out like a sore thumb in the parking lot…put two and two together and called me."

Sam frowned a little at that. "I, uh, I didn't realize you had told people about me."

She laughed, running her hand through his hair. "Don't worry. I kept the whole ghost-hunting, life-saving job part out. Just focused on the…superficial."

"Oh. Okay." Sam wasn't sure what to say to that. "It's— It's good to see you again." Here. Normal. Without a shotgun pointed at my head. Without a son that the other me forced you to have… Sam shook his head slightly. Keeping that mirror universe straight—with its alternate Dean, Sam, and Sarah—would make him crazy if he wasn't careful.

"Yeah, you look really happy to see me," Sarah mocked lightly.

Sam blushed, and hurried to smooth things over. "I'm sorry. Really. Sarah, it is good to see you. I'm just…a little screwed up right now. I didn't expect to see anyone I knew here."

She appeared to accept that, then let her hand slide lightly down his face, along the bandages covering his injury. "I know. You've been through a lot, I can tell. When I heard you were close-by and hurt, I had to come see you. I needed to talk to you."

"I wish I could have cleaned up for you a little."

"You look fine," Sarah said quietly. She drew back a little, hand resting on the bed near his. "Really fine, for someone who survived a cave-in."

Sam blinked. "They told you about that?"

"Oh, yes. You were really lucky, Sam."

"Not so much," Sam murmured. "I got him out, Sarah. Dean. I almost saved him, but— He was taken."

She looked concerned. Sarah knew about Dean's deal, knew that he had died and gone to Hell, even though Sam hadn't kept her in the loop since. She took his hand in hers. "Oh, Sam…I'm so sorry. Dean's always been your weakness. I know how hard this must be for you."

Sam looked up at her, startled. "What?"

"I hope Dean knows how lucky he is to have such a devoted brother. So…noble…."

Something was wrong. Sam stared up at her. "Why are you saying these things, Sarah?"

She released his hand with a sigh, and when she looked down at him, her green eyes changed, flipping to a beetle black. "Like I said, I needed to talk to you."

Before he could react, she clamped one hand over his mouth and the other against his side. Sam reached for her arm, but groaned as she pressed her fingers into his skin, placing pressure on his injured ribs. He reached for her again, but released a muffled cry as she increased the pressure. He dropped his arm to cradle his torso.

"Play nice, Sam. If I wanted to hurt you, I would have done it while you were asleep."

"Who are you?" Sam demanded when she dropped her hand, gritting his teeth as he tried to straighten out his torso to ease the pain.

"I'm Sarah, sweetie, can't you see? Oh, you mean who am I?" Sarah winked at him coyly. "I think you know. We were having such a nice conversation before that priest interrupted us."

"Mullin." Sam remembered the demon all too well. He remembered Mullin pinning him and almost killing Dean with Ruby's knife right before his eyes.

Sarah's eyes glittered menacingly. "See? You do remember."

"Where's Dean?"

"Somewhere safe. I admit, I was a tad angry with you earlier, but now that I've had time to think, I regret trying to kill him. You went to so much trouble arranging for his release, after all. Dean's actually going to come in quite handy, I think."

Sam grimaced, but he was getting used to the ache in his chest, and it was already easier to breathe and talk. He stayed still and kept his eyes on the demon. "What do you want?"

"I thought it would have been obvious by now, Sammy." The demon grinned deviously, tapping the end of Sam's nose with almost sincere affection. "You."

"Me?"

"Of course." The demon smiled wider, not elaborating.

Sam blinked up into Sarah's face, trying to think of a safe way to exorcise the demon and free her. All of his weapons were in the Impala, the only salt he had access to on the rollaway table with his lunch. Out of reach. Sam could try an exorcism, but without any traps or wards to keep the demon in place, he probably wouldn't get far with the recitation. Maybe if he kept it talking, Bobby would choose an opportune moment to return. "Well, you got me. I'm not going anywhere. What now?"

Mullin stared at him a moment, then frowned. "You really haven't thought about it, have you? You've been so obsessed over Dean, you haven't bothered to piece the clues together."

"I'm tired, I'm sore," Sam growled. "So, get to the point, if you have one."

Mullin laughed softly. "Unbelievable. I was under the impression you were smarter than this. Well, let me enlighten you, Sam. Should we start at the beginning?" The demon stepped back, strolling casually around the bed toward the small window. "Azazel—Yellow Eyes, if you prefer to call him that—chose you. He wanted a general to lead his army, and he pinned his hopes on you. Not really sure why. He didn't trust any of us enough to say."

"You worked for him," Sam interrupted. It wasn't a question.

"Yes, for a long time. Didn't help. Azazel was a tyrant…kept us all at arm's length. Whatever his reasons, he had you brought to Cold Oak with the expectation that you would win his little Miss Psychic Warrior, USA. contest. Had us all believing you were a shoo-in, smarter than the others, a trained fighter, a hunter who knew what he was up against. Needless to say, we were more than a little surprised when you oh-so-sloppily let Jake stab you in the back."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut. He wasn't fond of the memory, especially in light of what his mistake had ultimately cost him.

"Jake wasn't half the general we needed him to be. Azazel knew that, but he was stuck with the little Army brat and had to use him. But that's when dashing, heroic Dean-o stepped up to the plate. He made his deal, brought you back from the dead, and we were back in business. We could still have our general. Everything was back on track…."

"All that died when Dean killed Yellow Eyes," Sam corrected, a small grin pulling at his lips. Despite what happened later, he could still feel the flush of victory from that night. Dean had done it, fulfilled the family's vendetta after so long. He glanced at the table, wishing the salt shaker was just a few feet closer to the bed.

Mullin turned, smiling contemplatively. "Hmm, yes. Not exactly according to plan. Nor did we expect you to take off with Dean afterward. We were hoping the winner of Azazel's contest would emerge…raring to go, I guess. No one expected you to say no."

"Sorry to disappoint," Sam retorted smugly.

"I'm sure. So, with you on the road, fighting the good fight, Azazel dead, Jake dead…well, that left Lilith to fill the power vacuum. Again, not what we planned."

"What does it matter? You still get your war, whoever's in charge."

Mullin spun on his—Sarah's—heel and walked back to the bed, looking at Sam sternly, as if correcting a child. "Azazel was a heartless, manipulative dictator, but he was nothing like that bitch. Lilith has her own plans, and they didn't include any of us. We were on her shit list from the moment she escaped Hell."

"Still doesn't seem to matter," Sam shot back. "She hasn't made any more progress than Yellow Eyes did."

"What? You think the war's been on hold this past year while you've been drinking yourself into the gutter?" Mullin sneered. "Lilith's been making progress since she took Dean from you, just not on this continent. But her preoccupation gave the few of us that still believe in the original plan some breathing room. Our Plan B, you could say."

Sam didn't like the sound of that at all. Mullin was reveling in his monologue, though, and with any luck, Sam might gain something useful from the history lesson, so he kept quiet.

"You wouldn't play ball, and after Dean died, you…well, let's just say, a grieving drunk wasn't going to do us much good. Besides, you protected yourself very well. We couldn't find you most of that year. So, it fell to me. I needed to get the 'master plan' back on track, and you were still Azazel's favorite. I had to think outside the box, though." Mullin stepped back, holding up his hands like a scale. "Lilith on the one hand, an uncooperative Sam on the other. What to do? What to do? I just needed to find a Sam that would cooperate."

The realization hit Sam like cold water. "The portal. You were going to bring Samuel here…to this world."

Mullin clapped Sarah's hands and laughed. "See? I knew you'd drop the missing piece into place! You just need to apply yourself. So much easier when you're sober."

"That was why…" Sam trailed off. The vortex in Gatlinburg. Mullin was behind it all. Samuel would have come into this world and led Azazel's army, like he had in his own universe.

"Of course!" Mullin proclaimed. "Do you know how hard it was, discovering how to open that portal? It took me centuries of digging to find the rituals and spells, the power we needed even to try it."

"No one was supposed to find you in Gatlinburg…." Sam connected the dots. He hadn't even realized the scope of it all.

"Indeed," Mullin sighed. "It turns out you have a talent for disrupting plans. Not only did you find the portal, but you beat me to Samuel. You killed him, and collapsed the doorway before I could catch up to you. Very irritating, I must say."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"Isn't it obvious? You killed Samuel, ruining Plan B. But Lilith's still out there, and we still need her gone…so we find ourselves left with Plan A, or maybe Plan C. You."

It clicked into place with horrifying clarity. Sam had been having visions ever since returning from the other universe, seeing himself broken by unseen captors, slowly becoming a monster, just like Samuel. The Boy King, just as the demons seemed to want. He hadn't been sure if he was seeing his future, or somehow seeing that other Sam Winchester's fate.

Now he had his answer.

The depth of that prospect was too much for Sam to take in all at once. He had to get away from Mullin—away from that future—but how? Fighting was a dubious idea, between his ribs and the concussion. The demon wasn't likely to let him call a nurse and flee.

How did he get back here, anyway? The question rose unbidden in his mind. Maybe if he asked, he might buy himself a few minutes to think of a way out of this mess.

In the cavern, before Mullin brought Dean back, he'd showed Sam a vision. He'd been present in the other universe when that Dean had returned Sam to the portal. Sam frowned up at him. "You were there…you showed me how you watched when I went back through and destroyed the gateway. But how—?"

"Did I get back?" Mullin chuckled, but he was looking at the door. "Well, you have company coming. I'm going to have to go, looks like, but if you really want to know…"

Mullin pressed his hand against Sam's forehead again. The hospital room melted away in a flash of lightning.

"Bye, Sammy…."

The soft, sad words floated to him on the wind. Sam looked around, finding himself standing amidst rubble. The remains of the house in Gatlinburg, on the other side of the portal.

He turned and saw Dean looking into the swirling blue vortex, and realized he was seeing events in the other universe right after he left.

His brother's counterpart hesitated a moment, then knelt. With one final look into the whirlpool-like gateway, Dean broke the magic circle that controlled the portal. Seconds later, the vortex flashed violently and disappeared.

Dean stood, glancing at the storm-torn sky as he headed back to the parked car. He dropped gracelessly into the driver's seat and started off, looking determined but hopeless.

He must be headed back to Sarah and the others….

In another flash of lightning, Sam was suddenly…somewhere else. He blinked and shook off a wave of vertigo. The landscape was totally different, flatter, more desolate. He was in front of a dreary, concrete, two-story building, set back from the road and surrounded by small, charred trees and overgrown shrubs. The car Dean had been in was parked haphazardly by the front door of the structure.

Storms twisted the clouds and rain pelted him, even stronger there than before. Wherever he was. There were some more scorched trees behind him, and the cracked and overgrown remains of a road beneath him.

A battered, burned-out school bus was laying on its side across the road, about fifty feet away. Bodies were scattered around the wreckage, some weapons, some burnt and rain-soaked boxes. He took a few steps toward the carnage, but something made him pause and look up.

The storm clouds churned, almost forming a tornado-like funnel directly over the building. But what grabbed his attention were the swirling smoky shapes riding the winds, blacker than the rain clouds they danced in and out of...

Demons. Lots of them. Hundreds maybe, Sam couldn't be sure. Alarmed, he backed away from the remains of the bus and ran for the building, and hopefully a hiding place. The entrance to the structure was clear, despite the overgrowth everywhere else. Protection sigils and anti-demon signs were carved into the concrete around the door, and even into the tree trunks.

Inside was no better. More bodies: men, women, even children. Sam stumbled through the darkened halls. His trek took him down a rotted wooden staircase and into what seemed to be a honeycomb of rooms and corridors. He skidded to a halt in a spacious, high-ceilinged room lit by candles.

Sam stared in horror at what occupied the room. Ropes slung from rafters held five bodies, each upside down and situated over the points of a pentagram. Two of them were young men, but the others….

Dean, Sarah, and Sammy—the young son of Sarah and Samuel—all hung by their ankles, throats cut, dull eyes staring sightlessly, blood everywhere….

Beyond them, through an open door in another room, against the far wall, a bright blue whirlpool of light and smoke hovered a few feet off the floor, roiling like a tiny, silent hurricane. Sam had seen it before—

"Tell you what, Sammy," Sarah's voice cut into the nightmarish images. "When you're feeling better, come find me. I'll keep your little girlfriend warm for you…and you might even see your brother again, if you play ball."

Sam opened his eyes, only to be hit with a wave of dizziness. He was vaguely aware of Mullin walking out of the room. He moved to get up, only to be painfully reminded of the angle of the bed. He fell back against the pillow clutching his ribcage.

"Sam?"

Bobby was entering the room when Sam looked up. He motioned past the older man toward the door. "Did you see her?"

"Who?" the older man asked, glancing out into the hall around the corner. "Nobody there. Who'd you see?"

Sam grabbed at the bed railing, straining to sit up. "Sarah…I mean, Mullin, the demon from the church—he possessed her—"

"Slow down." Bobby gripped Sam's shoulder. "Sarah…your friend Sarah? The one from New Paltz?"

Sam nodded. "Mullin has her. He was just here."

"Are you all right? What did he want?"

He swallowed thickly. "Me. He wanted me."

TBC