Chapter 3
Will I See You in September?

"Don't lie to me, Sam," Lucifer said. "I know you're Tok'ra."

"The Tok'ra speak with one voice," Sam snarled. "Yes."

And that was the last Dean saw of his brother for a long twelve hours.


"It's gone sideways, Jack," Carter reported to O'Neill after beaming down to his office at the Pentagon. "We saw the energy spike when Dean opened the cage, and Lucifer's life sign did go toward the event horizon, but it didn't disappear. Then the spike ended and Lucifer took off for that spot in Nebraska where he was holed up during the Niveus raid."

O'Neill swore. "Any sign of Michael?"

"Not yet. We haven't been watching outside the US, but the only archangel that's showing up on our sensors is Gabriel."

"You rang?" said Gabriel, appearing just inside the closed door.

O'Neill cleared his throat. "Well, no, but since you're here..."

Gabriel tapped his temple. "I heard. Dean's probably on the phone to Chuck by now, but I'll tell you just in case. The final battle goes down tomorrow at high noon, Central Time, in Stull Cemetery outside Lawrence, Kansas."

"What can we do?" Carter asked quietly.

Gabriel sighed. "At this point? Not much beyond protecting the Gate. Lucifer knows the address of the Alpha Site and the Tok'ra homeworld by now; if he wins, no place in this galaxy is safe, and you don't have the power to get to Atlantis in time. Dean's the wild card. And if there's one thing I know about that kid, it's that he'll do anything for Sam—and if he can't save him, he won't let him die alone."

O'Neill grimaced. "Can we hold the SGC?"

"Indefinitely? No. If Luci shows up himself? Probably not, unless we can rig a holy oil trap. But we won't have trouble tonight. Luci's not in a hurry; he'll wait until after he takes out Michael before he sends anyone after us."

"Okay. Thanks."

Gabriel nodded and vanished.

O'Neill made sure no one could see into the office, then walked around his desk and kissed Carter soundly.

"Jack..."

"I know, Sam." He kissed her again and held her close for a moment, then backed away with a sigh. "Look, I need... we need the Hammond monitoring Lawrence."

Carter pulled herself together and nodded. "Yes, sir. I'll... I'll see you on the flip side."

"Take care of yourself, Carter."

"You, too, sir."

As the beam from the Hammond took her away, O'Neill tried to cheer himself with memories of all the other times they'd managed to save the world from certain doom. It didn't help. And sleep brought only nightmares of an alternate timeline in which Atlantis sent home an empty casket with a plaque that read "Col. Samantha Carter, USAF, 1967-2009," when Pegasus swarmed with hybrids and Earth swarmed with demons and Croats, and neither he nor the Winchesters lived to find out whether McKay ever succeeded in bringing Sheppard back from the future.


The situation room at Homeworld Command was eerily quiet as the department's personnel gathered to watch the sensor feed from the Hammond, focused on Stull Cemetery, shortly before 1300 EDT. They had a video feed connecting them with the SGC, too, and a subspace audio link to the Hammond, but they almost didn't need either one; no one was in the mood to talk.

They were there to watch the end of the world.

Sure enough, there was Lucifer's purple life sign, standing and waiting. At precisely 1300, a strong blue life sign joined it, and the two moved toward each other as if to parley. But O'Neill didn't miss the green life sign at the edge of the screen.

From the way it moved toward the other two, Dean wasn't just crashing this party; he was driving the Impala into it. That, O'Neill thought, took guts.

Dean stopped a few yards away from Michael and Lucifer, and O'Neill wasn't sure whether not having audio was a good thing or a bad thing. And then a light blue dot and a white dot appeared out of nowhere, and Michael vanished.

Followed shortly by the light blue dot. And shortly after that by the white dot. Gabriel cursed under his breath.

O'Neill had never watched hand-to-hand combat from a ship before, so he had no idea from the position of their life signs whether Lucifer and Dean were fighting or what, but the green life sign began to flicker. And then, suddenly, the purple life sign froze, became outlined in green, and backed away from Dean.

"The hell..." Landry whispered.

An energy spike appeared and spread into something that looked like the event horizon of a Stargate—"The cage is open!" Carter cried over the subspace link—and the green-purple life sign wavered at its edge for a moment. Then the bright blue life sign reappeared, lunged at the green-purple one... and both moved into the event horizon, which vanished along with them.

"He did it," Gabriel breathed. "Sam actually jumped in the hole. And he took Michael with him."

"It's over?" O'Neill asked incredulously.

But Gabriel had vanished, and there were now two blue life signs surrounding the fading green one that had moved to where the event horizon had been. And a split second later the white life sign returned as well.

"Now what, Jack?" Landry asked.

O'Neill shrugged helplessly. "Looks like we've lived to fight another day. We might as well get back to work." When no one seemed inclined to move, he added, "Or... we could have some cake and get back to work tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow, definitely," Carter agreed. "Can't solve all the galaxy's problems in one day, can we?"

"You've been talking to McKay too much," O'Neill teased.


Dishon was already beginning to repair the injuries Dean had received at Lucifer's hands when the bereft hunter stumbled to his knees on the spot where the now-closed earth had taken his brothers, too stunned to remember Sam's promise to return and too battered to voice the keening cry that bubbled from his soul or to repeat the incantation that would let him fall into the cage himself. Then Cas returned, fully restored and even promoted, and healed Dean's body with a touch while Gabriel did the same for Bobby (and Dishon kicked himself for not noticing either angel's arrival).

But nothing angel or Tok'ra could do would ever heal the brokenness of Dean's heart. They all knew that, and they all knew Dean had to try to make it without the angels or Bobby interfering. So did Homeworld Command; to keep the IOA at bay, O'Neill deliberately lost track of them once Gabriel and Bobby reported in. All Dishon could do now was to keep Dean alive long enough for time to begin to dull the pain, long enough for him to keep his promise.

Long enough for Sam and Salim to find their own way home.


On the outskirts of Cicero, Dean was startled by a red-clad figure standing in the middle of his lane. He slammed on the brakes and stopped barely an inch away from hitting her. Only when the car's momentum ceased did he recognize the face.

It was Kali.

Dean got out. "Kali, what the hell?"

Kali didn't say anything for a moment, just looked at him sorrowfully. Then she reached out and gently touched his face. "He did it."

Dean nodded sadly.

"Gabriel liked him." She paused. "So did I."

"Could... could you..."

"No. Even I don't have the power. I'm sorry."

Dean nodded again. "Just thought I'd ask."

Kali pulled him into a four-armed hug and held him for a moment. Then she pulled back and said softly, "Lisa is waiting for you."

"Thanks, Kali."

"Fare you well, Dean Winchester. We will not meet again." And she vanished.

Dean took a few deep, ragged breaths in an attempt to pull himself together, then got back in the car and continued on his way. He only just made it to Lisa's door without falling apart.


Dean was a wreck for the first week that he was at Lisa's, so much so that when Dishon offered to drive the morning after they arrived in Cicero, he relinquished control without a second thought. He tried to pay attention when Lisa spoke, to coach Dishon on how to react and what to say in return, but he just... couldn't. He hadn't spoken for months after Mom's death; part of him felt that with Sammy gone, he might never speak again.

Dean's body was 31 (if he ignored the repairs done two years earlier). His soul was 71 and felt older than it had when that stupid witch's poker game left his physical form aged to 80.

The days of our years are threescore years and ten; and if by reason of strength they be fourscore years, yet is their strength labour and sorrow...

Dishon, on the other hand, was a sprightly 400, had endured more losses than Dean could count, and was a heck of an actor. He mourned for Sam no less than Dean did, but he knew from bitter experience how to keep moving despite a broken heart. The month that they had been blended was more than ample time for Dishon to learn Dean's tastes, speech patterns, and mannerisms, and saying "I" when speaking for the host was old hat for a Tok'ra working undercover. Moreover, he had the benefit of all of Dean's memories, which not only gave him all the information Dean had about Lisa and Ben but also showed the gaps in Dean's knowledge that could be covered with the hunter's awkwardness at a settled life rather than exposing the alien's awkwardness at Tau'ri life. So Dishon spoke with Dean's undistorted voice and ate Lisa's meals with the appropriate level of enthusiasm, displayed some of their shared grief but not enough to alarm Lisa, drank some but not too much (not that a Tok'ra was capable of getting drunk on Earth liquor), kept Dean's body active and did his best to befriend the boy who might or might not be Dean's son. He kept Dean in the loop as much as he could, but he knew that if they were to keep their promise to Sam and Salim, Dishon would need to do most of the heavy lifting for a while.

After that first week, though, Dishon began prodding Dean to come back to himself. It started with Lisa gently suggesting over dinner that he look for a job.

Dean? What kinds of work are you qualified to do?

Dean snorted. Dude, I'm dead. Three times over. And all I've got's a GED. No place would hire me now.

Dishon repeated these facts to Lisa, replacing the derisive snort with a weary sigh, even as he skimmed Dean's memories in search of a trade. He supposed that if push came to shove, he could rely on his own skill set—they might be harder for foes to track that way...

"There's a garage across the river that has an opening," Lisa said. "Didn't you tell me you rebuilt your car all by yourself?"

Dean's response was a jumbled moan of BobbyDadSammynoooo....

"Yeah," said Dishon quietly. "I did. Dad... Dad was a mechanic. Before." He sighed again. "I'm sorry, Lisa, it's just... I'm still pretty raw, y'know?"

"I know," Lisa nodded. "But I hate to see you sitting around the house doing nothing. You don't have to tell me what happened until you're ready, but... I need you to keep living, okay?"

Dishon gave Dean a hard mental nudge and nodded. "Yeah. Okay. Um. If... if you think they'd be okay with hiring a dead man..."

Lisa chuckled. "I'll come up with something."

Dean mentally blinked. Did... did she just...

"Okay," Dishon agreed. "Thanks."

Lisa smiled and got up to get the apple crumb cake she'd fixed for dessert.

Wait, what are you...

Dean, thought Dishon calmly, if you have a problem with this, then you need to take back control of your life. I have no intention of living it for you indefinitely. Unless, of course, you wish to leave this planet and join the Tok'ra...

Dean sullenly turned away and went to sleep. Dishon sighed.

"What?" Lisa asked, setting a plate of cake in front of him.

Dishon shook his head. "Nothing."


Lisa was as good as her word, and by the following Monday, Dean had the job. The garage specialized in custom engine restoration, however, so although Dishon could use Dean's memories to do some of the work, he had to prod the man for help several times a day. By Wednesday, Dean had had enough and took back control for the rest of the workday.

By the end of the month, they had settled into an easier partnership, Dean keeping control at work and Dishon taking over at home. Dishon wouldn't let Dean totally avoid interacting with others, though, especially Lisa and Ben, and once the grief had dulled to a constant ache that Dean could sometimes ignore, Dishon took control less and less often. Dean still carried his silver pocketknife and his flask of holy water, but he seemed to be settling into "normal" life tolerably well.

Lisa and Ben were a comfort as well. To Dishon, they were good friends, helping the Tok'ra and his host adjust to life after hunting, after the Apocalypse, after Sam. To Dean, they were loves—fragile, too delicate and tenuous even to name yet, but growing stronger as the days went by.

That didn't stop Dean from humming bitter songs like the Monkees' "Regional Girl" at least once a week. Nobody understands, he finally informed Dishon one night as they lay staring at the ceiling. Nobody gets it. Lisa tries, but... she wasn't there. She doesn't know.

I was there, Dishon reminded him.

You're not Sam, Dean retorted and pointedly went to sleep.

Dishon retaliated by letting him dream about the fall of Vorash.

And though summer came and went, Dean still couldn't get through an entire day in control of his own body. That worried Dishon. So did the fact that though Castiel and Bobby still occasionally checked in with him—and Dishon made sure Dean was asleep when they did—neither of them had heard anything about Sam. Neither had Gabriel, Dishon learned the one time he dared to call Teal'c. Granted, the two angels had their hands full maintaining order in Heaven now that Michael was gone, but the lack of news was still disheartening. And Chuck wasn't answering his phone.

Four months, Dean thought as he poured himself a glass of whiskey one night in early September, drinking more out of depressed habit than anything else. Forty years in Hell time. I dunno whether to give up hope or assume we'll hear from him any day now.

It took your father far longer to escape Alastair and get to the Devil's Gate, Dishon noted as Dean sat down at the dinner table. Don't give up hope yet.

Yeah. Guess you're right. I just... I can't do this, Dishon. I know I promised Sam, and Lisa and Ben are awesome, but... I can't. Not without Sam.

"You okay?" Lisa asked as she brought the mashed potatoes to the table.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Dean lied, took a drink of whiskey, and started dishing up food for himself and Ben.

Suddenly the streetlight on the corner went out, but when Dean looked, he could just make out a familiar shaggy-haired figure standing hesitantly where the light ought to shine. Dean's heart leapt. He excused himself from the table and raced outside with a shout of "Sam?"

The figure didn't move for a moment other than looking at him, giving Dean time to get close enough to see his face, that lost and broken puppy face that meant Sam didn't know whether to make contact or leave Dean to his apple-pie life. He shivered once or twice as if the evening breeze were far colder than it was. Finally he started moving as if to leave.

"SAM!" both Dean and Dishon cried, and the resulting dual voice sounded almost like that of a Wraith.

"Dean..." The reply was little more than a whisper, but Sam did look back at him.

And then, while Dean was still five feet away from him, Sam's eyes rolled back in his head, and he collapsed, causing a transformer down the street to explode.

Dean and Dishon both panicked. Dean crashed to his knees at his brother's side and felt for Sam's pulse, which was strong but rapid, and his temperature, which was slightly elevated despite his earlier shivering. He then pricked Sam's arm with his pocketknife, which caused neither a burning wound nor any other reaction from his unconscious brother. Washing the cut with holy water caused a peroxide-like sizzle, but nothing worse. When a couple of other attempts at waking either Sam or Salim failed, Dean lost it and screamed for Cas.

Cas, of course, came right away. "He made it," the angel breathed in awe.

"We gotta get him to the SGC," Dean stated, pulling Sam into his arms.

Cas nodded and reached for Dean's forehead. A second later they were in the middle of the SGC infirmary, machines shorting out in all directions.

Dr. Lam charged in, but the curses died on her lips when she saw the cause of the commotion. "We need to get him into isolation," she said urgently.

Cas stooped and took Sam from Dean. "Lead the way."

Dean staggered to his feet and followed Cas and Lam to the isolation ward as someone from the infirmary paged General Landry. Dean barely heard Lam's explanation of where they were going and why; he was still wrestling with the fact that Sam had made it back to him but might die before they could even say hello again. In fact, when she started asking questions about what happened, it was Dishon who answered for him.

By the time they reached the isolation room, Landry and Teal'c were in the adjoining observation room. Lam made Cas and Dean wait there as well once they got Sam situated on the bed. No one said much after Landry explained that Daniel and Carter were offworld and that Mitchell and Vala would be back in the morning, but Cas and Teal'c stood on either side of Dean as he watched Lam examine Sam, lending him silent support.

Lam had just finished taking a blood sample when Sam stirred. Cas teleported Dean into the other room immediately, and Dean grabbed Sam's hand just before Sam's eyes fluttered open.

"D'n?"

"I'm here, Sammy. I'm here."

"S'lim's n' g'nn' make it."

Dean bit his lip and nodded. "'Kay. Can you let him say goodbye?"

Sam made a negative noise. "'Stoo weak. Sezza tell D'sh'n bye 'n' love you."

Dean let Dishon come forward, and the Tok'ra gingerly caressed Sam's face with his free hand. "Farewell, dear brother," he whispered. "Our people shall know of your valor. Tak mal arik tiak."

Sam smiled weakly, then sighed. "'Sgone. 'Msorry."

Dishon nodded but didn't move his hand from Sam's face. "I am glad you have returned, Sam. Dean was more than miserable without you."

Sam frowned a little. "Di'n' look..."

Dishon gave way to Dean. "Dammit, Sammy, you know me better than that."

Sam snorted affectionately. "Yeah." And his eyes fluttered closed again.

"He'll pull through, Dean," Lam said quietly. "His temperature's a little high, and of course we need to find out what's causing him to generate EMF, but his vitals are fine otherwise. Salim probably saved his life."

Dean didn't look away from Sam's face or try to stop the tears from falling—apparently the 'no chick flick moments' rule had fallen into the cage with Sam and stayed there. "Can I stay with him?"

"Of course." Lam brought him a stool and then left.

Cas gave Dean's shoulder a gentle squeeze. "I will tell Lisa that you're here."

"Hospital," Dean replied gruffly. "Just tell her we're at a military hospital. She doesn't have clearance."

"Oh. Yes." Cas squeezed Dean's shoulder again and left.

Then the torrent of sorrow and joy and relief of both man and symbiote overwhelmed Dean, and he buried his face in Sam's shoulder and wept until, completely spent, he fell asleep on his brother's pillow.


The moon had set, the power was still out, and Lisa was still outside searching for Dean in the darkness when Castiel returned to Cicero. He landed behind her and called her name; she jumped and gasped.

"I'm sorry," Castiel said immediately. "I didn't mean to startle you."

"Who are you?"

"My name is Castiel. I'm a friend of Dean's."

"Oh. Uh, Dean... Dean's not here..."

"I know; he asked me to explain. His brother has returned. We had to take him to a military hospital—his condition is... classified."

Lisa frowned. "I thought Dean said Sam was dead."

At least this objection had an answer that was true, if not the whole truth. "Officially he was."

Lisa nodded slowly, as if she knew that there was more to the story but that Castiel wasn't going to give it to her. "Okay. Where did you say they are?"

"In a military hospital. I'm sorry, Lisa. I can't tell you any more than that. And I'm not sure yet how long they'll be there."

"Am I allowed to go visit?"

"I don't know. I'll ask."

"Okay. Tell Dean I'll come if he needs me."

"I will. Good night, Lisa."

"Good night, Castiel."

Castiel waited until she had turned to go back into the house before he took off for Sioux Falls and called for Gabriel to meet him there. Dean hadn't asked for them, but he knew Bobby would want to see Sam as soon as possible, and he had a niggling feeling that he would need Gabriel's help to get Sam on his feet again.

Sam might be out of Hell, but he wasn't out of Lucifer's clutches yet. And Castiel was not about to let his friends suffer anything that was within his power to stop.


.


A/N: There really is a custom engine restoration shop in Cicero. I looked it up and thought it sounded perfect for Dean.

"The days of our years..." is Psalm 90:10 in the King James Version.

Tak mal arik tiak = You will not be forgotten (according to StargateWiki)