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Chapter 1
"Come with me, Sam. We can fix this." Dean pleads with his younger brother.
"No, Dean. We can't fix this. It's who I am. It's in my blood." Sam's lower lip quivers slightly, and Dean is sure he can see the smallest amount of the blackness of evil flicker in his green eyes.
"Sam..." Dean is lost for words, as he watches Sam mentally pull himself in the direction that six months ago, he was petrified he would be going in.
"Get out of here Dean." Sam warns, his voice low and authoritative. "He's coming."
For a moment, Dean had forgotten about Lucifer rising, starting the apocalypse. The brothers had run, both in the classic, jet black, 67 Impala.
Dean looks out at the lake they had stopped by. It was quiet, peaceful; no sign of evil anywhere.
"It's the end of the world, Sammy." He breathes, turning back to look into the scared face of the brother he raised as a hunter. Sam looks away, secretly wishing Dean away. The silent flapping of wings, and the disturbed air, warned the two men of another presence. A presence neither had expected to feel.
"We've failed." Dean speaks. "It's started. He's risen."
"We know, Dean." Castiel says in his low, dangerous, emotionless voice. "We need you to come with me."
Dean turns to face the angel, the soldier of God.
"We?" Dean's voice emanates his growing rage."And who is 'we' exactly? Last I heard, God had left the building. If there is no God, then I'm no longer required."
Castiel doesn't seem phased by Dean's tone.
"There is a high power at work here, Dean. We need to discuss...important business...with you." Castiel looks from Dean to Sam, and then back again. Dean knows that whatever Castiel has to say, he has no intentions of saying it in front of his brother.
"Go, Dean." Sam tries to get rid of Dean again, desperate for his brother to be safe. Dean doesn't have a chance to reply. He blinks, and when his eyes are open again, the scene has disappeared, and he's back in the room he was held in when Zachariah had informed him of the plans to let the world end.
***
It has been six months and four days since Dean had last seen his brother. He wasn't even sure if he was alive. Castiel had barely visited since the day he pulled him from the earth to discuss the worlds future. Three days and nine hours ago, Dean had successfully ended the apocalypse. Lucifer wasn't in his cage rotting in Hell. He wasn't walking the earth in a therapist's meatsuit. He was dead. Dust. History. Dean's body ached, and he was tired. He hadn't slept easily for months.
Flipping open his phone, he dialled in Sam's number. Yet again, he only got voicemail.
"Dammit Sam. Answer your phone." He talks, slurring his words a little. He closes the phone, and takes another swig from the bottle of whiskey. Half of it was already gone. Dean had forgotten how to feel. There's nothing except a drunken, fuzzy feeling. No happiness, no success, no pride, no sarcasm. He's an empty shell. He had won the war, but he had died inside. He had saved the earth, and everyone on it, but he had lost himself.
Dean picked himself up off of the floor, and dropped back onto the crappy motel bed. He could feel the springs of the mattress through the bedcovers, but he is too numb and drunk to care. He places the bottle and phone on the night stand, between the two double beds, and rolls over. He closes his eyes, imagining Sam asleep on the bed next to his as he had done for so long now, and allows himself to dream the nightmares he's had since rising from Hell.
"Hello Dean" Castiel's voice rings through Dean's head. The nightmarish scene of bodies covered in blood, and laying at his feet, changes into a scene he wishes never to see again. He is at the lake. The same lake he stood by when he looked at his brother for the last time. The lake that showed no signs of the world coming to an end, when the end had just begun.
"What do you want?" He says to Castiel, his voice as dead as the demons he enjoyed murdering.
"We haven't been able to find you." Castiel doesn't sound annoyed, or angry, or happy, or proud, or successful. He sounds informative.
"A few hex bags can help more than you know." Dean thinks he is being sarcastic, but can hear no wit behind his simple sentence. He tries to smile his usual cocky grin, but nothing happens. His cheeks are still, made of steel.
"You saved the world. God and his angels would like.."
"Well, you can shove God and his army of angels up your ass, because I've had enough of them and their stupid religious crap." Dean snaps, turning his back on the one angel he thought he could trust.
"Dean, we..."
"And let me ask you one thing, Cas. Where were you and the rest of God's warriors when I needed them? Huh?"
"We did everything within our power, Dean. We had our own battles to fight in Heaven."
"Yeah, okay. You hypocritical, arrogant, stupid, son of a bitch." Dean yelled, getting the closest to any emotion than he had since the day he had left Sam. "I think I want to wake up now."
Dean opened his eyes, facing the motel's dirty ceiling. He sighed, not sure on whether he could carry on breathing any longer. His head was still fuzzy from the whiskey, and he felt sick. Looking at the clock, he could see that he had been sleeping for a little over six hours. He sat up and swung his legs over the bedside, and took another swig of the whiskey. Sure that he had enough, he got up, packed his duffel bag, and left the motel. There was no need to pay – it had been abandoned since the owner had been killed, then possessed and killed again by Dean himself.
"Dean?" Bobby look confused, but pleased to see the man he thought of as a son, standing on his porch. "What are you doing here, boy?" Bobby looked wary.
"Hey, Bobby." Dean said, in his monotonic voice. "Just thought I would pop by."
"Well, come in." He stepped aside so the hunter could walk in. "Can I get you a drink? A beer?" Bobby asks, once the door has closed and both men are walking into the study where Bobby does his work. There are books open everywhere, on every surface, describing rituals and exorcisms and hexes and all other things supernatural.
"A beer would be great, thanks Bobby." Deans says, picking up one of the books. The pages read on how to reseal a broken seal. Bobby soon reappears with two beers; one for himself, and one for Dean.
"Have you heard from Sam?" Dean already knows the answer, but he asks anyway. Bobby shakes his head, solemnly.
"I'm so sorry, son." Bobby says. "But the boy just doesn't want to be found." Both hunters let out a sigh. Dean remembers he has news to tell Bobby. News, that he knows, will make Bobby happy. Or, at least, it should.
"Bobby, I gotta tell you something."
"Okay."
"It's about the apocalypse." Dean continues.
"Go on." Bobby urges, and Dean can see him gripping his beer hard.
"It's over. Lucifer is dead. I killed him myself."
"Wait, are you sure?"
"I'm positive. I had clarification from the angels last night."
"You done it, Dean! I knew you could." Bobby's face ruptured into a well earned grin.
"Yeah." Dean didn't return the enthusiasm.
"So, what does that mean?"
"I guess it means I've rid the earth from all things evil."
"I guess we're officially out of a job now, huh?" Bobby jokes.
"We need to find Sammy." Dean says, and he is sure the same thoughts are running through Bobby's mind.
"He's not evil, Dean." Bobby says it almost as if it is a warning. "He's out there, somewhere."
"Yeah, I hope so. Because if killing Lucifer meant killing Sammy, I'd rather have died myself."
"You're a moron, boy." Bobby said, this time he made sure Dean knew he meant it. "We'll start the search first thing tomorrow."
***
Sam wakes up to find himself, yet again, on a beach. His mouth is full of sand, his hair too. Grains trapped under his clothes scratch at his skin. He looks around, as his eyes adjust to the sunlight, and sees a young couple, hand in hand, stroll along the shore line, their dog splashing in the waves. This isn't the world he fell asleep in.
"Sam Winchester." A voice says, one of power. Sam looks to his left, where a man is sitting in a deckchair, wearing a grey suit and a blue tie. He looks around sixty, but still youthful.
"Do I know you?" Sam asks warily.
"My name's Zachariah." The man speaks. "And I'm the angel on the top of the Most Wanted list."
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