Dean lifted his head and looked around the airplane in bewilderment.
"What the hell?" he said. His head was spinning and spots danced in front of his eyes.
"I don't know," Sam slurred. "Dean, I…" He scrabbled for the air sickness bag in the seat back pocket and vomited noisily. The woman next to him glared at him.
"Folks, quick word from the flight deck," the pilot said. "We're just passing over Ilchester, then Ellicott City, on our initial descent into Baltimore-"
"Ilchester?" Dean said. "The convent…" Pain speared into his brain.
"...so if you'd like to stretch your legs, now would be a good time to- Holy crap!"
The plane suddenly lurched suddenly to the right and dropped alarmingly. Passengers started yelling and several items were flying around the cabin. The oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling and Dean grabbed his and shoved it on. Sam was throwing up again. Dean forced his brother into the mask. Sam did not look good. He was pale and sweating, his eyes were unfocused. A bright light was shining through the windows and there was a high-pitched screaming sound, that got louder and louder until it was unbearable. Dean clamped his hands over his ears. And then it was over, just as suddenly as it had begun. The plane returned to level flight and the light was gone.
"This is your captain speaking, we apologize for the sudden turbulence. Unfortunately, we do seem to have a technical problem and we're working on it right now. The crew will be coming through the cabin to see if anyone is hurt and preparing the cabin for landing. Please co-operate with their instructions. Thank you."
Dean eyed Sam, who still looked out of it. He squeezed his brother's arm and Sam gave him a weak smile.
"Nearly there," Dean said, weirded out by the role reversal. "We'll be on the ground soon."
Three people had been seriously injured and there were ambulances waiting when they finally landed. Sam leaned heavily on Dean as they made their way through the terminal in a daze.
"Are you sure you don't want to go to the hospital," Dean asked Sam.
"No," Sam said. "No hospital can fix this."
Finally, they made it out in front of the terminal. "You gonna rent a car or steal one?" Sam mumbled.
Dean cast a look at him. "Rent. Less chance of getting pulled over."
He looked around for the car rental desks and then pointed to some seats. "Stay here, I'll get us a car." Sam slumped down on the metal bench. Dean walked away from him and pulled out his phone.
"Bobby?"
"Dean!" Bobby said. "Thank God!" The relief in the old man's voice made Dean feel vaguely guilty.
"Bobby, what happened?" he asked tiredly.
"How am I supposed to know? I'm in freaking South Dakota!" Bobby's voice was high with stress and worry and Dean's conscience gave a twinge.
"OK," Dean said as soothingly as he could. "OK. It was worth a shot."
"Last thing I know, we were at that convent in Maryland. Next thing I know, I'm in my kitchen." Bobby informed him.
"Ah," Dean replied. "Actually, that helps."
"It does?" Bobby said, sounding baffled. "How?"
"It means I know which timeline we're in." He didn't know yet if that was a good thing or not. This whole jumping around in time was giving him a headache.
"Timeline? Oh, your time travel thing again?"
"Yeah," Dean said, exhausted. "I'll tell you everything when we get there. I gotta go rent a car."
"I hate this car," Dean groused. "Everything's made of plastic and douchebaggery." He smacked the dashboard as though to underline his point.
"Yeah, whatever," Sam said in a low voice. "Just drive, will you?" He didn't look much better than he had at the airport.
"How are you feeling?" Dean asked. Sam shivered and wouldn't meet his eyes.
"Awful," he said hoarsely. "Like I've been poisoned."
Dean kept his mouth shut. No point reopening that wound right now. "I'll drive us another few hours and then we'll stop and get some sleep, OK?"
"OK," Sam agreed. His eyes fluttered closed and then opened again. "Dean, look-"
"Don't say anything," Dean said, making a quelling gesture with his right hand. "It's OK. We just got to keep our heads down and hash this out, all right?"
Sam blinked slowly at him. "Yeah, OK."
"We need to find Cas." Dean said.
Bobby looked down at Sam, asleep on the couch. The young hunter's face was drawn and there were dark circles under his eyes.
"He's in bad shape, Dean," Bobby observed, shaking his head.
"I know," Dean said. "I thought if he just got some rest, and some food, he'd pick up. Instead I feel like he's fading away."
"It's not just the demon blood," Bobby said. "It's like he's given up." He wandered over to his desk and fished out a whiskey bottle. He poured some sloppily into a glass and then offered it to Dean who refused with a shake of his head. Bobby shrugged and downed the liquor himself in one gulp.
"I don't know what else to do," Dean said. "Look, I'm going to go talk to Chuck. See if I can get hold of Cas. Maybe one of them will know how to fix this."
"Haven't you been through this before?" Bobby said, almost accusingly.
"It wasn't like this last time," Dean said worriedly. "I don't know what's changed." He grabbed his coat and headed for the door.
Sam's eyes fluttered open. "Bobby?" he croaked.
"I'm here, ya idjit," Bobby said. "Do you need something?"
"Water," Sam said. Bobby handed him a plastic bottle from the table and held his head as he tipped it towards his mouth. He recapped it when it was clear Sam was done, and placed it back on the table within arm's reach.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, sorrow and guilt making his voice rougher than he'd like.
"I want to die," Sam whispered as his whole body shuddered. Dean had said Sam had described the feeling as like poisoning. Bobby frowned to himself as he considered how much better it might have been if they had only been able to convince Sam of this sooner.
"Ah now, you might feel a little rough but it's like a hangover. It'll pass." He didn't believe that of course, the kid was going through a withdrawal that would make kicking heroin look like a cake walk.
"No, you don't understand," Sam said desolately. "Dean warned me and I didn't listen. You warned me and I didn't listen. There was a ton of evidence staring me in the face that told me you were right, but I was being pigheaded and stubborn. And now I've let Lucifer out of the Cage and destroyed the world. And the worst of it is, Dean told me this would happen but I was so convinced he was wrong, I ignored him. Even accused him of lying about it." Tears rolled openly down his face and he hiccupped wretchedly.
"You fucked up," Bobby said baldly. "No question about it. Now you own that, and then you fix it."
"How, Bobby?" Sam wept. "How do I fix this? Some things don't get forgiven."
"Nonsense," Bobby said, any residual anger he'd harbored evaporating in an instant. "We'll figure it out."
Sam rolled over, his face to the back of the couch. "You should just let me die," he said. Bobby kicked the sofa with a growl.
"No, dammit. You done broke it, you don't get to throw in the towel! You hear me boy? We put our heads together and we'll fix it! I don't want to hear no more of this dying talk, you hear me?" He got up and stomped into the kitchen. Once he was out of earshot he leaned over the kitchen counter and let his own tears fall. God damn, the kid was broken. And he wasn't sure any of this could be repaired. Fuck you, John Winchester, he thought. All of this is your fault.
Dean hammered relentlessly on Chuck's door until the scruffy deity opened it with a scowl, his robe flapping open in the breeze. "Hey, Dean." Dean shouldered him aside and entered the house.
"Uh, why don't you come in?" Chuck said sarcastically and closed the door.
"All right, I need you to get me up to speed," Dean said. "Last time, we ended up on Soul Plane, Sam was all cleaned up. This time, he's sick. And he's getting sicker." He pinned Chuck with a glare that would have melted steel.
"Last time, I zapped your asses out of there," Chuck said easily. "I threw in the detox as a freebie."
"And this time?"
Chuck shrugged. "I delegated. Or rather, someone asked if I would let them save you instead."
"Who?" Dean demanded, staring at him in confusion.
"Gabriel," Chuck said. "But Gabriel isn't me, so he didn't have enough juice to zap you out of there, make sure that passing plane didn't crash and detox Sam, so he had to choose."
"So where is he now?" Dean exploded. "Why isn't he here to finish the job?"
"Not sure," Chuck admitted. "He said he had something he needed to do."
Dean rolled his eyes so hard he was almost surprised they didn't pop right out of his head. "Awesome. So where's Cas?"
"Oh. Yeah. Raphael exploded him." Chuck said, a strange look on his face. "I put him back together again and he said he had something he had to do too."
Dean punched an unoffending wall, leaving a considerable dent. "Can nobody sit still for a freaking moment?" he complained.
"Oh, crap," Chuck said. "Zachariah's on his way."
"You're God," Dean said, spinning around to face him. "Why is this a problem?"
"Undercover, remember?" Chuck said with a disarming grin. "You're gonna have to deal with them yourself."
"If they turn me into chunky soup, I'm gonna haunt your ass, God or no God." Dean growled.
"Thought we'd find you here," Zachariah said. "Playtime's over, Dean. Time to come with us."
"You just keep your distance, asshat," Dean warned, pointing at him and glaring at his hench-angels.
"You're upset," Zachariah said in what Dean imagined was supposed to be a soothing tone.
"Yeah. A little. You sons of bitches jump-started judgment day!"
"Maybe we let it happen," Zachariah said, spreading his hands placatingly. "We didn't start anything." Chuck shifted almost imperceptibly next to Dean and muttered something under his breath.
"That would be Sammy, am I right?" Zachariah continued and winked. "You had a chance to stop your brother, and you couldn't. So let's not quibble over who started what. Let's just say it was all our faults and move on. 'Cause like it or not, it's Apocalypse Now. And we're back on the same team again."
"Is that so?" Dean said icily, drawing himself up to his full height. He was going to derail this train, this time. He was. Somehow.
"You want to kill the devil," Zachariah said. "We want you to kill the devil. It's...synergy."
"And I'm just supposed to trust you?" Dean said in disbelief. "Cram it with walnuts, ugly." He could feel Chuck shaking with suppressed laughter next to him.
Zachariah certainly wasn't laughing. "This isn't a game, son. Lucifer is powerful in ways that defy description. We need to strike now, hard and fast—before he finds his vessel. And when he touches down, we're talking Four Horsemen, red oceans, fiery skies, the greatest hits."
"Cat's and dog's living together, mass hysteria!" Dean snarked.
"You can stop him, Dean, but you need our help." Zachariah insisted.
"You listen to me, you two-faced douche," Dean snarled. "After what you did to my brother, I don't want jack squat from you!"
"You listen to me, boy! You think you can rebel against us? As Lucifer did?" Zachariah looked down at the blood dripping from Dean's hand. "You're bleeding."
"Oh, yeah," Dean said as if he'd almost forgotten. "A little insurance policy in case you dicks showed up." He slapped his bloody hand on the sigil he'd painted behind the door.
"No!" Zachariah cried out, but it was too late. The angels vanished in a flash of white light.
"Learned that from my friend Cas, you son of a bitch." Dean said triumphantly.
"This sucks ass," Chuck said. Dean looked at him and he gave a defensive gesture. "I had no idea how bad things had gotten in Heaven since I left."
"So go up there and fix it," Dean snapped.
Chuck sighed. "It's not that easy, Dean. Free will, remember."
"Angels suck at free will," Dean growled.
"Not all of them do," Chuck said with a sly smile. "Castiel seems to be getting the hang of it."
"Not that much," Dean said with a surly look. He blinked as he realized what he'd just said, and who he'd said it to. "Uh… I uh… Shit."
"It's OK, Dean. I know about you and Castiel." Chuck said. "Honestly, I think it's sweet."
"Sweet?" Dean snarled. "What's sweet about it? He won't…" He broke off, flustered. His cheeks were heating and the calm steady gaze of the Lord was not helping.
"Everything will work out," Chuck said, patting him on the shoulder. "If you get the problems with the broken time stream sorted and there's still a problem, I'll have a word. I promise."
"OK," Dean said, swallowing hard at the implications of that promise. "I guess that's OK. What about Sam?"
"What about Sam?" Chuck said, his voice hardening. All signs of the benevolent deity were gone, replaced with a cool contempt. Dean kept his face blank but inside he was alarmed. Did Chuck have something against Sam? He'd never noticed it before.
"I… He's in bad shape."
"Gabriel took on that job," Chuck said callously. "It's up to him now."
Dean shuffled into the living room and Bobby frowned at him. "How'd it go with Chuck?"
"Not much help," Dean said dismissively, wishing he could tell him the truth. "Cas is AWOL. How's Sam?"
"Physically, he seems a little better. But his spirit's broken, Dean." Bobby said heavily. "I'm worried he might do something stupid."
"More stupid than free Lucifer from Hell?" Dean snarked.
"Stupid, like hurt himself stupid." Bobby said sternly, giving Dean a hard look. "He told me he wants to die."
"Suicide?" Dean said in disbelief. "Sam's not the type."
Bobby shook his head at him. "I don't think you understand," he said. "If you talk to him, you'll see. He's upstairs."
Dean nodded and headed for the stairs, finding Sam curled up on a bed in the bedroom to the right.
"Hey, Sammy," he said. "How are you feeling?"
"I can hear you talking about me," Sam said acidly. "Why don't you just leave me alone?"
"Because I need you," Dean told him. "I just had a run in with Zachariah. I can't fight the forces of Heaven and Hell on my own."
"Where's Cas?" Sam asked.
"I don't know," Dean admitted. "He'll show up. But I need you."
"I'm no use to you, Dean." Sam said sadly. "I'm done."
"No, dammit," Dean said. "You do not get to give up on me."
"I'm not giving up. I'm broken, beyond repair," Sam replied. "Every day is more unbearable than the last."
"Sam-"
"Go away, Dean," Sam said. He began to shiver. Dean gave him a helpless look and then returned downstairs.
"So what do we do now?" Bobby asked him, pouring more whiskey into his glass.
"I don't know," Dean said, swirling his drink around and gazing into it. "The last time, Chuck sent us a message about Michael's sword, which turned out to be a euphemism for me being a vessel."
"Euphemism? Now there's a five dollar word." Bobby cracked.
"Shut up."
"Gotta find humor in something," Bobby said. "So, you're a vessel."
"Michael's vessel, yeah. And Sam's Lucifer's."
"I am not," Sam said from the doorway. "I don't belong to Lucifer. He can fuck off."
"Sam!" Dean said, delighted to see his brother on his feet.
"Sit down before you fall down," Bobby growled, getting to his feet. "I'll make you something to eat."
"No, it's OK," Sam said. But Bobby ignored him, striding into the kitchen and puttering around.
"I'm sorry, Sam," Dean said following Bobby and dropping into a chair. "I wasn't trying to upset you."
"I know," Sam said. He opened the fridge and surveyed the contents with a frown.
"You're a hard man to find," Zachariah said, walking into the kitchen flanked by two other angels. "Sam. Good to see you." He pointed his fingers like a gun and said "Bang." Sam collapsed to the floor with a cry.
"No!" Dean yelled. "You son of a bitch!"
"Keep mouthing off, I'll break more than his legs. I am completely and utterly through screwing around. The war has begun. We don't have our general," Zachariah told him. "That's bad. Now, Michael is going to take his vessel and lead the final charge against the adversary. You understand me?"
"How many humans die in the crossfire, huh? A million? Five, ten?" Dean challenged, standing up and glaring at him.
"Probably more. If Lucifer goes unchecked, you know how many die? All of them. He'll roast the planet alive."
"Trouble is, you need my consent. Michael needs my say-so to ride around in my skin." Dean folded his arms across his chest.
"Unfortunately, yes," Zachariah admitted with a grimace.
"No way." Dean said firmly.
"There is no alternative. There must be a battle. Michael must defeat the serpent. It is written." Zachariah looked distressed, Dean thought. The bigwigs must have been giving him a hard time. He suppressed a smile at that thought.
"Yeah, maybe," he said idly. "But, on the other hand... Eat me. The answer's no."
"Bobby, how're you doing?" Zachariah said genially, turning to look at the old hunter. "You're an older man, who knows what kind of infirmities you're carrying? Maybe there's a blood clot on it's way to your brain right now." He made a gesture with one finger. "A stroke could put you in a wheelchair." His unrelenting gaze returned to Dean. "Say yes, Dean and that blood clot will dissolve away. Say no, he'll never walk again."
Bobby glared at Dean but it wasn't necessary. "No."
"Then how about we heal you from...stage-four stomach cancer?" Zachariah said viciously.
Dean doubled over suddenly, pain spearing through his midsection and he began coughing up blood. He dropped to his knees unwillingly.
"No," he croaked.
"Then let's get really creative." Zachariah tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Uh, let's see how...Sam does without his lungs." Sam started making wheezing sounds and Dean turned to look at him.
"Are we having fun yet?" Zachariah said with a nasty grin. "You're going to say yes, Dean. I'll find your pressure point."
"You'd have to kill us first." Dean managed despite the pain and the fear.
"Kill you?" Zachariah said. "Oh, no. I'm just getting started." There was a flash of light and Zachariah turned his head irritably to see one of his lackey's collapsing, a bloody hole in his throat.
"Cas!" Dean said with relief. Cas wrestled with the other angel, slamming him into the wall. His opponent swung his leg out and Cas stumbled forward. As the angel raised his blade in triumph, Cas suddenly twisted and they lost their footing. Cas slammed his blade into his back and the angel died in a flare of light. Cas strode over to Zachariah.
"How are you…" Zachariah faltered.
"Alive? That's a good question." Cas rumbled, a cracked smile on his face. It made him look slightly unhinged. He waved the bloody blade in his hands towards the Winchesters. "How did these two end up on that airplane? Another good question. I think we both know the answer, don't we?"
"No," Zachariah said, shaking his head. "That's not possible."
"It scares you. Well, it should," Cas looked at Dean who was still coughing up blood and Sam who had passed out on the floor. "Now, put these boys back together and go. I won't ask twice." Zachariah vanished, and Sam stirred and groaned. Dean leaned his head on the table leg and Bobby just stared.
"You need to be more careful," Cas said sternly.
"I know," Dean said. "But the hex bags are only so good."
Cas stepped forward and Dean dragged himself upright, smiling at the angel. He was so goddamn happy to see him. Cas placed a hand on his chest and he gasped in pain. Then the angel turned and helped Sam to his feet. He placed his hand on Sam's chest and Sam yelped in pain.
"Ouch," Dean said. "I forgot how much that hurt."
"What was that?" Sam asked, rubbing at his chest.
"An Enochian sigil. It'll hide you from every angel in creation, including Lucifer." Cas told him. "I carved it into your ribs."
"Well," Bobby said. "What happens now?" Cas disappeared without warning.
"Dammit, Cas," Dean swore.
"Here," Bobby said, shoving the dirty plates at Dean. "You get to wash up, princess."
"Why me?" Dean complained. "Why not Sam?"
"Because Sam's still sick, dammit!" Bobby snapped. "Why do you always have to-" He broke off with a cry.
"Bobby?" Dean yelped as Bobby collapsed to the ground. "Sam! Call 911!"
Bobby was still and unmoving on the floor and none of their attempts to rouse him elicited any response. The ambulance showed up ten minutes later, but to Sam and Dean it felt like a lifetime.
"Are you his kids?" the EMT asked briskly as Dean opened the door and led them through to the kitchen. His shirt bore the name Erikkson.
"Yeah," Dean lied. "We're gonna follow you to the hospital in my car."
"OK," Erikkson nodded. "Sounds good. We're gonna take good care of your dad, I promise."
It took no more than a few minutes for Erikkson and his partner, a sullen woman by the name of Foster, to load Bobby into the ambulance. Sam and Dean jumped into the Impala and followed as they headed for the nearest hospital. Dean could feel Sam fretting in the seat next to him.
"He's gonna be OK, Sam," he promised. But he wasn't sure, was he? Bobby had ended up in the hospital last time after stabbing himself with Ruby's knife to rid himself of a demon that had possessed him. Having a stroke or whatever the hell had happened was totally different. But he had to believe.
"You can't know that," Sam said dismally. He leaned his head against the window, lost in thought.
"I can and I do," Dean asserted.
"Unlikely to walk again? Why, you snot-nosed son of a bitch! Wait till I get out of this bed!" Sam exchanged a look with Dean and they rushed into the room where Bobby was being treated. The door flew open and the Doctor fled down the hallway. "I'll use my game leg and kick your friggin' ass! Yeah, you better run!" Bobby looked at the Winchesters with a grimace. "You believe that yahoo?"
"Screw him. You'll be fine." Dean said.
"So, let me ask the million-dollar question. What do we do now?" Sam asked. Dean cast a glance at him. This was the most engaged Sam had been since Lucifer had been set free.
"Well... We save as many as we can for as long as we can, I guess. It's bad. Whoever wins, heaven or hell, we're boned." Bobby said.
"What if we win?" Dean suggested. Bobby stared at him and Sam was incredulous. "I'm serious. I mean, screw the angels and the demons and their crap apocalypse. Hell, they want to fight a war, they can find their own planet. This one's ours, and I say they get the hell off it. We take 'em all on. But we do it our own damn selves."
"And how are we supposed to do all this, genius?" Bobby said, a smile tugging at his lips.
"I got no idea," Dean declared. "But what I do have is a GED and a give-'em-hell attitude, and I'll figure it out."
"You are nine kinds of crazy, boy," Bobby said, shaking his head admiringly.
"It's been said," Dean agreed. He patted Bobby on the shoulder. "Listen, you stay on the mend. We'll see you in a bit."
As they walked across the parking lot, Dean could hear Sam thinking.
"You know, I was thinking, Dean—maybe we could go after the Colt," he said finally.
"No point," Dean said. "It won't work."
"Why not?" Sam objected.
"Apparently the Colt doesn't quite kill everything. I think Lucifer said there were five things it couldn't kill. And he was one of them."
"When did you have a little chit-chat with Lucifer?" Sam said, stunned.
"Time travel, remember?" Dean said.
Sam's face twisted. "You're not still seriously riding that horse," he said in disbelief.
"Yep," Dean said. "I thought after everything that happened you'd believe me, Sam."
"Well, OK. Let's say I do believe you. What happened?" Sam said.
"It's a long story. And lot's of it ain't fun. I'm not up to telling the tale tonight." Dean said wearily. "Let's leave it to another day."
"OK," Sam said doubtfully. His footsteps slowed as they approached the car. "Is there something else you want to say to me?"
"Yeah," Dean said. "Lots. But not in a hospital parking lot. I'm not letting you out of my sight."