Notes: This one is literally hot off the presses. I wrote it between work this afternoon and right now, and wanted to post it before LOST tonight and definitely wanted it up before tomorrow. Mostly because tomorrow night this entire story will probably be moot. (Doesn't mean I won't continue, but if I don't put this up before the Season Finale, I might be tempted to change it.) I'd actually wanted to do a Dean chapter, but he wasn't speaking to me the past three days. Sam, on the other hand, wouldn't shut up. So, here's Sam's chapter, before Dean's. Hopefully, I won't be discouraged tomorrow night. Enjoy!

-3-

The Renegade

Sam sat in an empty hunting cabin in a small mountain town in upstate New York, sipping a scotch at 9:30 am. He was some 150 miles northwest of New York City, and well up on some nameless mountain: high enough that there was a crisp chill in the air despite the impending summer.

The past few weeks had Sam hoofing and hitching, sticking and moving. He couldn't afford to steal cars with hunters on his trail—they knew all the tricks and would be vigilant of any and all stolen cars moving through and across state lines. If he got on a bus or train he might as well slit his own throat. They'd have him in hours if he got on a greyhound.

Motels were out of the question. Stolen credit cards would be tracked down with an efficiency that would put the FBI to shame, so Sam had been brushing up on his camping and squatting skills. The incredibly depressed housing market had finally netted a decent result: there were endless numbers of empty houses just sitting pretty and ripe for Sam to move in for a day or two.

So Sam had hop-scotched his way across half the country until he finally found himself a decent home base. The cabin sat high on the mountain surrounded by about 100 acres of woodland and tall grass. It was set far enough back from the road that Sam could camouflage the driveway and the entire structure just melted into its surroundings.

On top of all of that it had its own well water, a small man-made fishing pond, plenty of deer if necessary, solar panels and its own generator. Hell, these people had even installed a flat screen TV and DVD player. He guessed if one was stuck out in the woods living off the land, one shouldn't be without the latest X-Men or Batman movie, right? Sam had taken one good look around the place and knew that he had a place to call home.

He also knew that Dean would have loved this place.

It had aggravated him that the voice in his head telling him that this place was perfect was Dean's. The internal 'Sweet' was so distinct that it sent a sharp pang through Sam's gut with all the precision of a hot bullet. It was the first time that he'd thought about his brother since that night in the bar. The weeks he'd spent traversing 1500 miles of the country he'd actively not thought about his brother. He'd refused to allow his mind to go anywhere near the vicinity of his brother. And had to remain vigilant, because every time his guard dropped he'd think of something he should tell Dean, or see something he'd want to point out to Dean, or have the urge to play a practical joke on Dean.

Dean didn't want anything to do with him. The realization would nail him with all the grace of a 2x4 across the face. Sam would chastise himself and then resume Not Thinkingabout Dean.

Sam was practiced in the art of Not Thinking about people. He'd first been introduced to the idea when he'd left for Stanford and his father had told him not to come back. He'd spent the first half of his freshman year Not Thinking about the family that he'd lost. Of course, he'd had classes, new friends and eventually Jess to distract him until distraction was no longer necessary.

Then Jess had died. He'd spent weeks looking around for her, reaching out in bed for her, and thinking of things he wanted to tell her only to have the memory that she was gone rip apart the wound in his heart and make him bleed out all over again. Of course, he'd had Dean to help him that time. Dean had kept him distracted with research, and food, and mindless banter, and blaring 80's rock. Dean had taken up all the air in the room, spent all his waking hours being a jerk and a friend and...a brother: the brother that he'd missed like an amputated limb while he'd been at school. Dean had filled his life up so completely that he'd been able to Not Think about Jess until one day he could think about her without breaking down into sobs.

Then his father died and it was easy to Not Think about his dad, because he was too busy worrying about Dean. Too busy trying to hold Dean up, keep him safe and get him to speak that Sam didn't have time to break apart. Didn't have time to wallow in the grief and regret that tempted and nagged at him.

Then Dean died. And Sam didn't want to Not Think about him. He was all Sam thought about. Every minute of every day, Sam thought about Dean in hell. Thought about how he was going to save Dean from hell. He didn't need to avoid thoughts of Dean, because the more infected and open that particular wound, the less likely Sam would get distracted from his mission to save Dean.

But now...there were no distractions. No classes to go to, no papers to write, no girlfriends to hold and love, to whisper secrets in his hair, or stay in bed with on lazy Sunday mornings. No older brothers chewing with their mouths open, or short sheeting his bed. No brother to support him, or for him to support. No mission to consume his thoughts. Nothing but the immediate urgency of bobbing and weaving, and setting up a perimeter around his new mountain fortress.

"Sam." The voice cut into his Not Thinking, startled him to his feet. Instinct drew his gun before his neurons could fire. Not good to be sleep deprived and drinking. His exhausted brain took a half a second to catch up to him, which is too long if he wanted to stay alive with trained hunters gunning for him.

"What the hell are you doing here? What, are you here to kill me, Castiel?"

Castiel. The name was a statement, question and curse all at once to Sam. Sam hadn't seen him since...that night, and to be honest, he'd hoped he never see him ever again.

"Kill you?" He'd said the words like he couldn't fathom Sam's meaning. Hell, maybe he can't.

Sam lowered his gun. It wouldn't do him any goddamn good anyway. "Yeah, you know. Put an end to the monster. The atrocity."

Castiel's eyes softened and Sam wanted to put a well placed fist through his face. Don't you feel sorry for me you bastard! "But are not a monster Sam. You are pure now. Don't you know that?"

"Right. I feel real pure." He swallowed his morning cocktail as a punctuation.

Castiel took a slow step forward and a casual glance around the room. Then he fixed his eyes on Sam, pinned him in place like a specimen for dissection. "Feel it or not, you must realize that what was in you is now gone."

Sam tilted his head and really looked at this Angel/Man that was standing before him. His long black coat, his peaches and cream skin. The empty, complacent look in his eyes. "Yeah, I've been wondering about that as I've been running for my life for the past month. I mean, I was all heart of darkness, Big Bad I'll eat your liver, and now, I don't know. I'm just..."

"Sam." Castiel finished for him.

"Yeah." And he was. Because he'd reached for that power over the days and weeks of solitude. Reached into the deep places where it had lain, waiting for him to call it forth to wield. But it was gone. Not dormant, as it had been since he was an infant. But just...gone. "So, what the hell happened?"

"You have been cleansed." He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world.

"What the hell does that even mean? How?"

"Your brother." And Castiel saw the confusion, the absence of understanding in Sam's eyes. "Your brother swore an oath to me. Swore loyalty to my father. I needed him to swear. And he did, while you were screaming in that room, he swore that he would do as we told him and play his part to prevent Lucifer's rising."

Sam's head was spinning. Dean had agreed to be, what, toy soldier for the angels' army. For God's army? "Why would he do that?"

"So you wouldn't have to." And Sam folded on himself. His knees wouldn't stay locked anymore and he sat heavy in the chair he'd just vacated. The chair was still warm from his body heat. Which was good, because Sam had gone so cold that he was shivering.

"He swore to be our soldier and so became the tip of God's arrow. He became our weapon and our Knight. He was granted light, power and grace to wield against the forces of darkness."

"Like me." Sam whispered.

"Yes. Like you." Sam buried his face in his hands. "And once your brother had sworn to me, I released you from your bonds."

Sam's rage eclipsed his shame, burned it away. "You what? You? Why would you do that?"

"Because you needed to be there, Sam. You needed to complete your journey, your metamorphosis and unleash that darkness on your brother. It was the only way that he could cleanse you."

"Cleanse me?"

"Yes. Extinguish the evil that had festered in your blood. He became the instrument of your destruction and salvation. If you had remained in that room to 'detox,' as your brother called it, the evil would have continued to rage through you. The need and the lust and the hatred would have consumed your body and your soul. And you would have died and been damned."

He didn't know what to think. He also didn't have time or the inclination to mull over all the details right now. So he did what had become natural: he put aside his regrets and thoughts for later and zeroed in on the true question.

"Why are you here?" Just to break me again. To make me feel worse about the loss of the only family I have left.

Castiel sighed. It was strange to see such a human gesture from a creature that was so divorced from the concept of humanity in Sam's mind. "Dean needs you."

"Maybe you haven't been paying attention here, Cas" the name spat with as much derision as Sam could muster in the wake of emotional devastation, "but Dean and I are kind of on the outs. In fact, my brother threatened to kill me if he ever saw me again."

"Yes, but this isn't about you. Let me rephrase. Dean needs your help."

Sam couldn't contain the bitterness or sarcasm. More than a month of hurt can distill into a healthy dose of bitter if mixed and bottled properly. "Why don't you just 'help' him? He's your pet project, isn't he? Maybe you should ride shotgun with him, become his hunting buddy? I heard the position's open."

"Dean is...angry with me."

"Join the club. Maybe we can get T-Shirts and tweet all about it."

"We don't have time for this, Samuel." The use of his given name pissed him off. "Your brother is in danger."

"What's new? Dean's always in danger. It's kind of our way of life."

"Yes, well this time he's in danger from the people who are hunting you."

Sam went still. So still he could hear the blood thrum through his veins and weave through his organs. And it clicked, what had been nagging him when he spoke to Bobby that night on the phone.

You saw Dean?...I'll go get him...They'll track you any way they can.

Bobby had practically taken out an ad in the paper to broadcast his concern. Sam had been too busy licking his own wounds and then running to even give Bobby a second thought.

"Tell me. What happened? Did they...did they find him?"

"Yes. They have him, but have hidden him from my eyes." Which meant that they knew way more than Sam would have expected. Knowing about the demons was one thing-they were hunters after all. But the angels...Sam hadn't really thought anyone would have known about them.

Sam grabbed his emergency pack by the door and slung it on his back. "Tell me everything on the way."

If you liked it, let me know!