Blackheart

Four Years Later

Four years. Forty-eight months. One thousand and sixty days. Four years. Four years to the day since Sam had lied to his family. Four years since Sam had run off without looking back. Four years since he'd begun his life as the devil's bounty hunter. Four years since Sam had seen or heard anything from his father and brother. It had been far too long.

That much was perfectly clear as Sam marked another day off his calendar. He then kicked off his boots and sank into his comfy leather recliner and let out a soft groan. He was tired, bruised and sore, having gotten little to no sleep for a few days, due to a very long hunt and nightmares. He'd been running on adrenaline and coffee all week and had just gotten home. He was tempted to just sleep for a millennium right there in his chair, but he knew he couldn't, especially after hearing the news on the radio. It was going to be sundown in a couple of hours and he had a job to do.

With a sigh, Sam reluctantly forced himself to get up, ignoring the protests of his aching muscles as he did so and headed for the shower as he got started on his day. The cold October weather had been particularly bitter the past week, so Sam eagerly welcomed the burst of heat from his showerhead, enjoying the warmth and the feel of the pressurized hot water against his skin as it soothed the pain of his bruises and he found the solace of the shower soothing as he collected his thoughts.

It had been four years since Sam had become Ghost Rider. During those four years of near self-imposed exile, he'd been traveling all over the world, hunting down demons and the like every night as the Ghost Rider. He slept most of the day due to hunting from dusk until dawn, but he was usually awake by two in the afternoon and sometimes he was up earlier if he needed to be. He had a permanent home in Denver. It was a large warehouse apartment nestled above a garage and it was complete and utterly his, thanks to Carter Slade.

Shortly after they'd become friends, Slade had wanted to make sure Sam had a place to crash when he was in town. The building had been Slade's property and he'd given it to the boy. Sam had repaid him several times over with visits, pitching in at the cemetery and being his friend. Sam was grateful to the old man for everything he'd done. Sam didn't know where he'd be without Slade's help and friendship.

Sam had changed somewhat over the past four years, but then again, who wouldn't after experiencing what he had? He was a great deal quieter, a little battle-weary and tired. His appearance had also changed. While he still had his award-winning smile with dimples and his puppy-dog eyes, there was a hint of pain behind his moss green gaze and he had a little bit of stubble as well.

Gone was his usual assortment of plaid, white and pale colored clothes, and in their place was nothing but black. Short-sleeved black shirts, black leather pants, black leather boots, black leather gloves and a black leather jacket. The jacket and gloves were adorned with dull spikes that became sharp and pointy whenever Sam transformed into Ghost Rider. He'd changed his attire shortly after his first transformation as he felt black was more fitting for what he was now. Plus, it did look better when he was out hunting.

When Sam wasn't hunting, he was making an adequate living from occasionally working part-time as a mechanic. Dean had taught him quite a bit about cars from all the times they'd worked together on the Impala, and sometimes he worked at the local bar whenever they were shorthanded and they were always glad to have him. And he had credit-card scams for emergencies. There wasn't a lot of cash involved in the work, but Sam wasn't complaining as it paid his bills and put bread on his table.

Although Sam helped Bobby on a few hunts now and again, Sam usually hunted solo as technically, he worked for Mephistopheles. He didn't always get to pick and choose his hunts like a normal hunter, but then again, nothing about Sam Winchester was normal. There were times when he'd go out at night and his bike would drive him where he needed to go without his permission and other times when an image of something supernatural he needed to get rid of would enter his mind and remain there until he finished his work. Thankfully, such incidents were infrequent.

Since becoming the Ghost Rider, Sam's hunts had been more successful than ever to the point where, shortly after his twenty-second birthday, he'd been able to find and destroy the Yellow-Eyed demon that had killed his mother. After destroying Azazel, he'd sent an e-mail to Bobby informing him of the event and Bobby had told the older Winchesters of the demon's destruction but didn't inform them at whose hands the demon had met its demise. Of course, with Sam's confrontation of the Yellow-Eyed demon came some information that Sam wished he could forget. Worse still, Sam's work as the Rider had long since proved to him that humans could be monsters too.

Sam had infrequent contact with Bobby, and now and then he paid a visit to the man he considered a second father, but Sam had had no contact with John or Dean since he left. True, through Bobby, he was able to keep tabs on them and avoid them whenever he went abroad for hunts, but he hadn't had any contact with them whatsoever. He knew he couldn't talk to them without them getting suspicious and finding out the truth of what he'd done and where he was. He also wasn't quite sure if they even wanted to hear from him after the way they had parted four years ago.

Despite the fact that Bobby had helped him keep tabs on his father and brother, it wasn't always enough as Sam still missed his family so much that it felt like someone had punched a hole through his heart whenever he thought about them. He missed his usual banter with Dean, he missed going out on hunts with his father and brother, and he missed riding in the Impala while arguing over what music to play. Heck, he even missed John yelling at him. It was only when he had particularly hard nights that Sam would play the only video recording he had of them just so he could hear their voices again, just for a moment.

While he had known the price to pay to save them would be a heavy one and leaving had been his choice, he had not anticipated the amount of pain that would come from his choice, even if it was pain he was willing to bear if it meant Dean and John were alive and kept from joining Mephistopheles's place. Making choices was a part of everyday life and one had to live with them, but that didn't make Sam's life any easier.

Sam must've written them a thousand letters, but he never mailed them. There were times he picked up the phone to call them only to hang up as he reminded himself that he'd become the Ghost Rider for them. Knowing they were alive and safe, that was all that really kept him going anymore. He kept the few pictures he had of them on his desk and the sight of them made his burdens easier to carry. His personal favorite picture was the photo-shopped one of all of them as a family which included his late mother, Mary.

After his shower, Sam changed into a fresh set of clothes and made himself some breakfast. Once he was done eating, he poured himself the last of his triple espresso as he needed the energy boost, and sat down as he examined the newspaper for more information on the job. There was a report of a massacre in the desert. An entire bar of people had been overdosed with brimstone. Who or whatever had done it had to be pretty darn powerful to do that and leave no traces. By the way the report sounded, Sam would have to guess the murderer was headed right for his neck of the woods.

He'd just finished three-fourths of his espresso when his phone rang. He immediately answered it without checking the Caller I.D. Only two people had his new cell phone number and he had different ringtones set to each caller.

"Hey, Bobby," said Sam.

"Hey, kiddo. I've got news for you. Your daddy and brother are headed your way," said Bobby. "They just called about a job in your area and they should be there by tonight."

Sam dropped his coffee mug. It broke, and the remains of the hot caffeinated drink spilled onto the wooden floor, but Sam took no notice as he quickly asked, "They're coming here tonight? Do they know that I'm here?"

"As far as I know, they don't. But if they do, they didn't hear it from me. Anyway, I thought I'd warn you just in case you ran into them," said Bobby. "Have you seen the newspaper?"

"Yeah, I've seen the papers," said Sam. He had no doubt that Dean and John were headed his way because of the same article he'd seen. He didn't know what was powerful enough to overdose people with brimstone, but he had a gut feeling it wasn't good. "I don't have a clue what this thing is, but either way, I'm going to have to protect Dad and Dean. I have a feeling their usual weapons aren't going to work this time."

"You and me both," said Bobby. "Think you're going to have to tell them about you at last?"

"I don't know." He bit his lip as he sighed. "Thanks for the heads-up, Bobby. I'll call you in a few days."

"Okay. But don't hesitate to call me if you need anything. You take care of yourself, boy."

"Don't worry, I won't. You take care of yourself too. Bye."

Sam hung up his phone before running his hands through his hair. His mind was reeling with this information.

They're coming to my town and knowing Dad and Dean, they'll find me. He felt conflicted. He missed them, yes, and he did want to see them again, but was it really a good idea for them to be reunited? How could he talk to them without having to answer questions he wasn't sure he could answer? Would they even want to see him again after what had happened that night, four years ago?

I want to see them again, but do I dare? Do I dare tell them about what I am, why I lied and what I did for them? Or do I keep to the shadows and stay away from them? What if John decided Sam was evil and tried to hunt him? Or worse, what if Dean still hated him for what Sam had said the night he'd left them?

He sighed again. He was being ridiculous. Chances were they did want him back in their lives. From his contact with Bobby, he knew Dean and Dad had never really stopped looking for him after finding out he'd never gone to Stanford, and he wanted to tell them he was okay, but did he dare? What if they were looking for him for another reason? What his fears were justified? He bit his lip. He didn't know what do.

He picked up a photograph of his mother and tenderly rubbed it with his thumb. "I wish you were here, Mom," he whispered. "You'd know what to do."

With yet another sigh, he put down the photo and rubbed the space between his eyes. There were just too many what-if's about the situation and he was getting himself worked up. He had to calm down and focus on what was ahead of him. He would just have to deal with his family when the time came.

After cleaning up his coffee and throwing away the shattered remains of the mug, he got to work. He worked out for an hour, put in a few hours at the mechanic's and the bar's, collected his paychecks and cashed them in, and put in a few hours of research to try and figure out what could overdose someone on brimstone. His research turned out to be fruitless, which meant he'd have to wing it, something he was used to doing, as most of the stuff he fought wasn't anything like the things he'd hunted growing up.

Eventually, the sun went down which meant it was hunting time. Sam grabbed his jacket and gloves before he dragged his bike out of the garage. He was going to go on patrol and see if he could find the scumbag he was after when he ran into a certain demonic host for a certain someone Sam despised and had had no contact with in four years.

"Sam," said Mephistopheles. "It's been too long."

"Not long enough it would seem," growled Sam. "If you're going to talk to me, Lucifer, talk to me yourself. Don't send your freaks to do your dirty work." He'd stopped referring to him as Mephistopheles, preferring to call the devil by his real name. This was the first time in four years that they'd spoken. But that little detail didn't matter to him as Sam was in no mood to talk to his "boss." He just wanted to get out on the hunt as quickly as possible.

The demon just chuckled as his eyes went black, signaling that the devil was there.

"Lucifer, whatever it is you want, the answer is no. I'm not in the mood for any of your crap, and I've got work to do, so why don't you do us both a favor and get lost," snarled Sam.

"My, my, aren't we cranky this evening? I merely wanted tell you this: the one you seek is known as Blackheart," said Mephistopheles.

Sam was really getting annoyed as he got onto his bike. "Why should I give a crap about this freak's name, when I'm going to be hunting him and sending him back down there with you, regardless of who he is?"

Mephistopheles smirked. "Because who he is makes him valuable," he said. "He's more powerful than anyone you've ever encountered and he will not be alone. He's enlisted the help of others in his plans." He got right in Sam's face. "I can't harm him in this world, but you can. The time has come for me to act upon my word. If you succeed in finding and destroying him, I'll return your soul to you permanently so it can never be taken again and I'll take back the power of the Ghost Rider. Think about it."

There was a flash of lightning and then he disappeared.

Sam was silent as he changed into the Ghost Rider and rode off. He could get his soul back and the curse removed. It was a generous offer, almost too generous. Whoever this "Blackheart" was, he must've been putting one devil of a thorn in (so to speak) in Mephistopheles's side. The same could probably be said for whomever Blackheart had working for him. But it didn't matter what Sam was offered as he still had a job to do. He had to stop these bozos and soon, before anyone else got hurt or worse killed.

XXX

The sun was shining and the sky was clear, which was in clear contrast to the moods of John and Dean Winchester as they drove in their respected vehicles. Dean was in his Impala and John was in his truck.

They were headed up to Denver for a hunt, having heard about a freaky massacre in the desert and they figured whatever had done it was headed up to the city. The city itself had been a major hit for supernatural activity over the past four years with the most bizarre reports ever to reach a hunter's research. But the hunt and the city's supernatural activity was the last thing on Dean's mind as he drove his Impala in silence, not bothering to turn on his favorite tunes like AC/DC or Metallica.

Shortly after Sam had left, Dean had finally plucked up the courage and had gone down to Stanford to check on his little brother with his father to apologize and make amends, only to discover that Sam had lied to them about where he was going. He'd never gotten into Stanford because he'd never applied. The Administration Office had confirmed that Sam's acceptance letter was a fake. Frantic efforts to find Sam had been fruitless and after all the time that had passed, there was little hope Sam was even still alive.

Both men sorely regretted how things had gone down the night Sam had left. More than anything, they wanted Sam back. They wanted him there beside them while they hunted, being his clever self, making his stupid jokes, giving them his little puppy-dog pout, showing off that heart-touching smile of his, and just being their Sammy.

Part of Dean was mad at Sam for lying to them and running off, but at the same time, he knew Sam never did anything unless he had a good reason or at least he thought he had a good reason. Well, whatever it was, Dean just hoped Sam was okay.

I swear, Sammy, if I ever find you, I'm going to kill you, then I'm going to be a better brother to you and then I'll never let you out of my sight ever again, thought Dean, as he drove down one of the many streets of Denver.

Several hours later, they hadn't checked into a hotel yet as they were still scouting the area and researching for information. For the moment, they were at a bar, having some chips and drinks. Their research was fruitless, no surprise there. Nobody really knew what was capable of overdosing people on brimstone and vanishing without a trace and Sam had always been better at researching than Dean or John.

"Well, this is just great. Some seriously bad mojo's going on and we've got next to no leads. What're we supposed to do now, Dad?" asked Dean.

"Not entirely true. We've got a little to go on," said John, after examining a file. "We know this creep's probably heading here, since it's only attacked at night it's probably nocturnal so we'll look for at nightfall. I have a hunch that the local train yard's going to be this crazy creep's next stop."

Dean frowned. "The train yard? Why?"

"There used to be a graveyard there. Assuming that this bozo doesn't know the graves were moved, it should be a hit. And it's the same area of where some seriously supernatural stuff occurred a while back," he explained.

It made sense in a way, so Dean just nodded. But he couldn't help but wonder if they would've had better luck with the research if Sam had been there to help. Unconsciously, he started fiddling with the amulet that Sam had given him for Christmas so many years ago. He'd never taken it off. Holding it now reminded him greatly of Sam.

Where are you Sam? Why did you leave us?

John sighed as he squeezed Dean's shoulder. No doubt he'd guessed Dean's thoughts. "I miss him too, Dean. We'll find him someday, I know it. In the meantime, just hang on a while longer, okay?"

Dean swallowed painfully as he murmured, "Yeah, I know." He knew John was regretting how things had gone down that night too. Dean just had to hold on and keep strong as always for Sam's sake as well as John's.

John's hunch seemed to hit the nail right on the head as the two of them found themselves hiding as they watched something take place. They had just come to the train yard when they saw the man who they guessed was the one they were hunting, and three others stand before a fat man with a lantern. The man had a demonic air about him. He was quite tall, slender, dress in black right down to his trench coat, he had black hair, scary ice-blue eyes and incredibly pale white skin.

The three others who were with him were certainly not human. One looked like he'd come out of a dip in a lake, the second like he was being blown in the wind and the third like he'd just crawled out of the earth. All three of the goons were pale-skinned and wore near the same attire and gave off a bad vibe.

The one who appeared to be their leader spoke to the man with the lantern. He had a cold look on his face. "There was a cemetery here."

The fat man looked terrified. "Yeah, a long time ago."

"What happened to the graves?"

"They moved them."

"Where?"

"I don't know," admitted the fat man.

"Who would?" he demanded.

"S-Saint M-Michael's ch-church," stuttered the fat man. "They were in charge of the whole thing." He looked more scared than ever. "Look, you really shouldn't be here."

The man smirked. "That's what they keep telling me."

To John and Dean's horror, he touched the fat man's chest before they could react and immediately, the fat man was overdosed with brimstone just like the victims in the desert.

That's our guy, thought Dean as he and John emerged from their hiding place and began firing on demonic beings, only to watch in horror as their specially prepared weapons were useless against them. They recoiled in horror as the demonic beings just stood there and the one in black laughed evilly at them.

"Ah, the famous Winchesters," he said, smirking. "It is indeed an honor to meet you. Your work is legendary, even for hunters."

"Who are you?" demanded John.

"What are you?" demanded Dean. "And how do you know about us?"

"My name is Blackheart and everyone knows about you," he said, as his eyes darkened. "And I'm going to be the last face you'll ever see again. You cannot kill me and your little toys won't work on me or my allies. I'm not like the things you've hunted before."

He grabbed Dean by the throat and hoisted him up into the air as two of the others went after John, only to release them when suddenly there was the sound of a motorcycle coming and a loud roar that didn't sound human.

What appeared to be a flaming skeleton completely dressed in black leather adorned with metal spikes on the shoulders of the jacket and alongside the gloves, rode in on a scary-looking silver and black motorcycle. Four enormous blasts of fire burst out of the creature's left hand. Three of the blasts hit the three demons squarely in the chest, sending them flying across the train yard in pain.

Blackheart, however, just dodged the blasts and laughed again as he clapped. "Well, well, well, seems like the family's all here. Reunited after four long years," he said.

Dean frowned as he massaged his neck where Blackheart had held him. Family's all here? Reunited? What's this creep talking about? The flaming skeleton in black leather didn't seem to be anyone that Dean or John knew. But then again, who on earth knew someone like whatever this thing was?

"Looking for someone, Ghost Rider?" said Blackheart, grinning.

Dean frowned in confusion. Ghost Rider? That was something he hadn't heard of before. Was that what that flaming skeleton thing was? But Dean didn't have time to ask as the "Ghost Rider" or whatever it was, got off its bike, stood protectively in front of Dean and John, and then pointed an accusing finger at Blackheart.

"These mortals are under my protection. Harm them and you die!" the Ghost Rider snarled.

"We're not going to have a meaningful conversation, now are we?" said Blackheart.

"You're going down," the Ghost Rider growled. "It's time you were sent back to where you came from."

Blackheart pretended to think about it. "I don't think so," he said, grinning.

The wind demon suddenly blew the Ghost Rider was flung into the air and hung on a chain that was hanging from the ceiling of nearby building. The flames went out and the creature appeared to be dead. Blackheart just laughed.

But a surprise was headed Blackheart's way as the Ghost Rider suddenly came back to life. The flames returned, the Ghost Rider grabbed the chain it was dangling from and got back on the ground. It walked forward, only to get stuck in a puddle by the water demon and then crushed between a truck and one of the train cars by the earth demon.

Blackheart looked satisfied as the earth demon got out of the truck.

"He ain't so tough," said the earth demon.

"What do we do with the Winchesters?" asked the water demon. "Kill them?"

Dean clutched his gun tighter as John put a tight grip on Dean's shoulder.

Blackheart shook his head. "I've changed my mind. Killing them will accomplish nothing. They can't harm us nor can they prevent our plans. Leave them and let's go."

But before they could leave, there was a loud sound of metal being pushed back and the smell of metal burning as the Ghost Rider emerged from the rubble and dusted itself off before it put its hand on the earth demon's shoulder.

"Hey, Dirtbag," it said.

It punched the earth demon so hard; part of its face was knocked away like a part of a rock missing from a boulder and was quickly regenerating. It landed several feet away from it was punched and looked terrified as it gazed up at the Ghost Rider.

"Have mercy," the earth demon gasped.

The Ghost Rider lit up its chain with fire. "Sorry, all out of mercy." It swung its chain a few times and then wrapped it around the earth demon. The earth demon let out a scream as fire emitted from the chain and the heat turned the demon into solid rock before it crumbled into gravel while Blackheart and the other two demons then disappeared as quickly as they had appeared.

The Ghost Rider slung the chain over its shoulder and then turned to Dean and John. They didn't understand what had just happened, but they weren't afraid of the Ghost Rider. Despite its incredible powers, it didn't seem to want to hurt them. Heck, it had just protected them and they were hunters, which only added to the confusion.

"You two," it said. "Are you all right?"

Dean shared a confused look with John, who just shrugged. They were really confused now. This Ghost Rider or whatever it was seemed to be completely unnatural, it smelt of sulfur, and yet it'd just saved their lives and was after the same prey they were and it was concerned about them. Blackheart seemed to know just what or who this thing was, but how had he known? This was pushed aside as Dean responded to the Ghost Rider's question.

"We're fine," said Dean, slowly. "Thanks. You saved our lives. We owe you one."

The Ghost Rider shook its head. "You owe me nothing."

"But who—what are you?" asked John, frowning.

"I am not your enemy, but your ally. I'm a hunter, like you but different. I am the Spirit of Vengeance, I am the Ghost Rider," it rasped. "That is all you need to know. You should leave this place while you still can. This creature that I hunt is more dangerous than anything I have ever encountered before."

"We'll take our chances," said John, firmly. They were not ones to skip out on a hunt.

The Ghost Rider didn't seem to be surprised by John's answer. "Then you can expect to find me there every night."

It then turned around and started walking away.

"Hey, wait!" said Dean, quickly. "Where're you going? Don't go."

Dean couldn't explain it, but something about the creature seemed familiar. Blackheart had said the creature was family, but was it? He needed to make it stay just a while longer so he could find out the truth.

The Ghost Rider froze in its tracks and turned to look at Dean. Though its head was just a flaming skull, there seemed to be pain on its features.

"I need to leave," it said. "The sun will rise any moment now."

"What does that have to do with anything?" asked Dean, puzzled.

"Everything," it said.

It walked over to where its bike was sitting, but before the Ghost Rider could get on its bike and ride off, the sun came up. The Ghost Rider cringed as it raised its hands to shield its face, but it did little good as the sun's rays touched its face, causing the flames and bare skull to vanish and were replaced with human skin and a shaggy mop of brown hair.

Dean was even more confused now. Since when did the morning's rays turn supernatural creatures into humans? More importantly, why did that mop of hair seem familiar? Then he saw the Ghost Rider press its left hand against the brick wall of the building for a moment while keeping its head down and its back to the Winchesters as if in pain or exhaustion.

Dean decided to take advantage of this and quickly ran over, turned the Ghost Rider around and lowered its hand that was covering its face, only to recoil in shock when the Ghost Rider's face was revealed to be one neither he nor John had seen in four years.

"Holy freaking crap! Sam?" said Dean, shocked.

Sam's face was unreadable. "Hey, Dean," he said. He nodded in John's direction. "Hi, Dad."

"Son; is that really you?" asked John, gazing at him in disbelief.

Sam nodded. "Yeah, it's really me. It's good to see you both." There was no hint of sarcasm, bitterness or anger in his tone, only sincerity. Sam was actually glad to see them. "It's me. Look, I'll even prove it to you."

He slipped off one of his gloves and then pulled out his old knife that had silver on one side and iron on the other, from his boot. Sam pricked his finger, there was no reaction. Nor was there any supernatural reaction from the flask of holy water from Sam's belt or from the Latin exorcism Sam spouted off. It was honest and truly Sam.

There was a brief moment's silence and Dean and John's brains processed the fact that Sam was alive and well, and while they were confused by the thing he'd transformed into, he'd just saved their lives and protected them. It was unbelievable and darn lucky they'd come to Denver as it'd brought them back to their missing family member. Words could not express their happiness at finally finding him again.

Sam seemed to mistake their silence as rejection, however, as he swallowed painfully, turned away and hung his head as he put a hand on his bike's handle. "I'm sorry. I don't blame you for not wanting me here. I should've left sooner. I'll go now."

But before he could leave, Dean grabbed Sam's hand and held it tight, preventing him from leaving. "If you think that we don't want you here or that we're letting you out of our sights again, then you're an idiot," he growled. But then his tone became soft. "Don't you dare leave us again, don't you dare. I've missed you, Sammy. We both have."

Sam immediately tensed at hearing his childhood nickname, but then after a moment his body trembled a little. He then turned around and embraced Dean tightly as he cried a little into Dean's shoulder.

Dean didn't even hesitate to return the embrace. He held Sam in a bone-crushing hug and was relishing in the fact that he had his brother back. Sammy was back. Sam was finally back! After four years of living with guilt for the way they'd parted, not knowing where his brother was, not knowing if he was alive or dead, not being able to contact him, Dean was unable to restrain his tears as they streamed down his cheeks.

"I've missed you too, you big jerk," said Sam, as he got out of the embrace, and smiled a little. His smile widened when he saw the amulet on Dean's neck. "Man, look at you. I leave you and Dad alone for five minutes and already I have to save your hides."

Dean laughed as John cracked a smile. Trust Sam to try and lighten the mood with a joke after a hunt. But the good mood vanished as quickly as it had come as John and Dean looked solemn and upset.

"Darn, it's good to see you, Sam, you dork. Where on earth have you been all this time?" asked Dean. You've been blazing around all of creation as that flaming skeleton thing, I'll bet.

"Everywhere and nowhere," he admitted, looking down at his feet. "Guys, I-I'm…" Sam's voice faltered and he didn't finish his sentence.

He's trying to apologize, Dean realized. His heart broke. We practically disowned him that night he left and he's the one trying to apologize? Gads, Sam.

John then spoke up before Dean could. "Sam, son, we're sorry," he said. "We're so sorry about everything."

Sam's head shot up as he looked at them. He shook his head. "No, no don't. Everything that happened that night I left was all on me. I know you never would've said any of that stuff if I hadn't pushed your buttons. The fights were my fault. While I never meant anything I said that night, I deserved what you threw at me. Heck, I probably deserve a lot more than that right now, considering what I did. I ran off and lied to you for four years."

"Yeah, and that reminds me. I got you something." Dean reached over and smacked the back of Sam's head, earning a glare from his little brother, which he ignored. "If you ever lie to us and run off like you did again, I'll kill you myself, got it?"

"You've got to promise us that you're never going to do something like this ever again, son," said John, sternly.

"All right, all right, already," said Sam, throwing up his hands in defeat. "I swear I won't do that again. Next time I go off on my own, I'll be back within a certain time period and tell you the truth about it, I promise."

While Dean was surprised Sam gave in so easily, he also felt a wave of relief as John looked pleased by Sam's promise. If there was one thing Sam was known for, it was that he always kept his word no matter what. But that didn't mean he was getting off the hook so easily.

"Well, now that we've got that settled, I'm not letting you out of my sight again anytime soon and I think we'd both like an explanation," said Dean, folding his arms. "And no offense, but what the heck are you doing here?"

"None taken," said Sam. He let out a soft breath as he rubbed the back of his neck. "Well, for starters, I actually live here. I'm working on a job and saving the two of you." He paused for a moment. "I don't suppose I could persuade you both to hightail it out of town for a bit, while I deal with those clowns from before?"

"Forget it, Sammy," said Dean, flatly, as John nodded. "We're not skipping out on the hunt and we're sure as heck not going to leave you alone!"

"All right, all right, fine," said Sam, throwing up his hands in defeat. "Have you checked into a hotel yet?"

"Not yet. Why?" asked John, raising an eyebrow.

"Well, you can both bunk at my place. I've got a spare room. Just follow me in your cars and if you want, I'll explain everything when we get there," said Sam. "We've got to split before the cops show up anyway. All this isn't going to go unnoticed."

Dean and John exchanged looks before deciding to comply. They got into their cars as Sam got onto his motorcycle and led them to a garage where they parked their cars. There was a locked elevator which Sam opened after punching in the code. They went inside; the elevator went up and stopped in the doorway of Sam's home.

"Welcome to the pit," said Sam, as he flicked the light switches.

Once Sam got the lights on, they saw that Sam's home was a large warehouse apartment. It was furnished with everything a hunter would need and well-protected. The kitchen, dining room and living room were all joined; there was a bathroom and three bedrooms down the hall with the doors shut.

Sam took off his jacket and gloves before he walked into the kitchen and started making a pot of coffee and got out some food from the refrigerator.

"Can I get you guys anything?" he asked. "I'm out of espresso, but there's still a little regular coffee left. I'm going make some eggs, sausage and bacon for breakfast. Do you guys want any of this stuff?"

"Yes to both, please. I'll have coffee and breakfast," said Dean, gratefully. He was starving and he felt like he could use a cup of coffee at that moment.

"Just coffee for me, thanks," said John, as he sat down at the table.

"Coming right up," said Sam.

Dean and John watched as Sam quickly made them both coffee just the way they liked it and whipped up sausage, eggs and bacon, which smelled heavenly as he dished it out. As Sam had given them the last of his supply of coffee, he just poured himself some orange juice and then sat down beside them.

Dean hesitantly took a bite out of his breakfast, not sure about Sam's cooking skills, but instantly his taste buds screamed in delight and he eagerly devoured more.

"Dang it, Sammy, when and where did you learn how to cook like this?" he demanded. "This is delicious."

Sam smiled. "Thanks. A friend of mine taught me a while back. He said it was a necessary skill. He also gave me this place," he said, beckoning to the apartment. "When I'm not on the road, I live here. I work sometimes down at the local bar or at the mechanic's and I have credit card scams for emergencies. It's not much, but it pays the bills."

"Seems like you've got everything worked out for you," said John, with a hint of pride in his voice. "You've got everything you could want."

Sam shrugged. "Not until now, I didn't," he said, quietly.

Dean and John's hearts melted at that statement. It was easy to guess that Sam had missed them in the four years they'd been separated from each other, from the looks on Sam's face, their reunion and the pictures he had at the apartment.

Dean noticed that Sam had changed in the last four years and he wasn't talking about Sam turning into whatever he did last night. Gone was the innocent young boy with boyish features and in his place was a well-muscled and quiet young man with moss green eyes that had seen far too much in so little time. He was dressed all in black leather for heaven's sake. Sam usually only wore black as part of a business suit and Dean couldn't remember him ever wearing leather. What had happened to him?

After breakfast, Sam cleaned up the breakfast dishes and then they sat down in the living room. Sam took the leather chair while Dean and John took the couch.

There was silence until Dean broke it.

"All right, Sam, what happened to you? What exactly is that Ghost Rider or whatever is you turned into last night?" asked Dean. He'd never heard of the Ghost Rider before and to see Sam become something that certainly wasn't human was both frightening and intriguing. Dean frowned as a thought came to him. "Was it because of Ghost Rider that you left?"

Sam sighed and after a long moment, he nodded. "Yeah, that's why I left. I knew I was going to become that thing in a matter of hours and I had to give you good reason to not go looking for me if I left. So, I made a fake acceptance letter to Stanford, made you both mad at me and went off to meet my fate."

"Well, you pulled one heck of a fast one on us, son. But what in heaven's name is that thing you turn into?" asked John, looking as if he was dreading the answer to his question. "Why do you turn into that thing and what do you mean you knew you'd become that thing?"

Sam bit his lip and there was a hint of fear in his eyes. "Don't hate me, okay?"

"It's impossible for us to hate you, son," said John, gently as Dean nodded.

Sam took a deep breath and said, "To answer your earlier question, Dean, I'm the Ghost Rider which means I'm the devil's bounty hunter. Every night after sundown, I transform, I hunt down fugitives from hell and I send them back. Anything evil or dark, supernatural or even human, I hunt and I catch. I punish the wicked and protect the innocent."

Dean and John stared. Sam was what?

"Wait, back up. You're telling me that the devil and all that stuff they teach you in Sunday School is true?" said Dean, slowly as he narrowed his eyes.

Sam nodded.

"And you actually work for him of all beings?" said Dean, horrified. "Why on earth are you working for that creep? We taught you better than that, Sam!"

"First of all, I didn't know he was the devil when I met him," said Sam looking annoyed. "And second of all, it wouldn't have mattered even if I had known because I still would've done what I had. Lucifer appeared to me in a spirit form because he can't break free of his prison. He made me an offer I was in no position to refuse."

"Why, Sam? Why did you agree to work for Lucifer?" asked John, desperately. "What made you so darn desperate that you sold your soul?"

Sam swallowed painfully. "Do you remember when I was nine years old, we went out for Halloween and after seeing that movie, we turned down an alley and went home? In the morning, you were fine and you thought I was only freaked out because of a nightmare."

Dean and John nodded, wondering what Sam was getting at.

"That was a lie. That wasn't what happened, not at first."

"What did happen, then?" asked John, looking concerned and puzzled.

"You died," Sam confessed. "We were mugged by a crazy lunatic with a gun and you both died trying to protect me. You were killed right in front of me." His grip on the worn leather chair's armrest tightened.

Dean felt the blood drain from his face and his heart stop at these words. He wanted Sam to tell them that it wasn't true, but the look on Sam's face told him otherwise. John also looked visibly shaken at this confession. Dean couldn't believe it. He and John had died that night? Why didn't they remember such an event? The thought of Sam watching them perish in front of him shook him down to the bone.

"Why don't we remember this?" he asked, shakily.

Sam looked down at his hands. "Because your memories were altered so you wouldn't remember. Right after you died, a stranger came to me. He just popped out of nowhere and made an offer. We made a deal. I agreed to sell my soul and become Ghost Rider exactly ten years from that night if he brought you back, modified your memories of that night and made it so you two could never go to perdition not ever."

There was a moment's shocked silence before John and Dean broke it shouting, "You did WHAT?" How could Sam have done something so incredibly reckless, as to make a Faustian deal? How could he?

"I made a deal," Sam repeated as tears came to his eyes.

Dean and John opened their mouths to speak, but Sam cut them off. "And don't ask me why I did it or tell me that I shouldn't have done it. You know why. I did it because I loved you both too much to let you go so soon. You were both dead and I was desperate. Making the deal was the only way to bring you back." He wiped his eyes of the tears that had fallen. "You both would have done the same thing if the tables were turned."

Neither of them responded as they both knew it was true. If the tables had been turned, they would've done the same thing. Sam had done what he did because he cared.

"We understand your reasons, but for heaven's sake, Sam, why didn't you tell us about this in the first place?" asked John, looking upset. "Why did you lie to us?"

"How was I supposed to tell you?" said Sam, as he ran his hands through his hair. "I was dealing with the fact that I was going to have to leave you in ten years and I couldn't get your deaths out of my head! I still have nightmares about that night sometimes. You died because of me. I didn't want to lie to you and I sure as heck didn't want to leave you guys, but I didn't think I had a choice in the matter. Leaving you as I did was the hardest thing I've ever done, but it was a small price to pay if it meant you two were alive." He sighed yet again. "I never wanted to hurt either of you. I was just trying to protect you. And I guess part of me thought that if you knew what I was, I'd be the hunter who became the hunted."

Dean and John's faces softened and then John knelt in front of Sam. He cupped his son's face and wiped away his tears. "Son, listen to me; our deaths were not your fault. If it wasn't for you, we wouldn't be alive right now. I know you wanted to keep us safe, but we're your father and brother and our job's to keep you safe. And we would never, ever hunt you. You're a part of this family. From now on, we're all going to be better about that and protect each other. No more solo, self-sacrificing gigs, not ever. Okay?"

Sam nodded and smiled a little. "Okay, Dad."

John gazed at him for a moment and then Sam got out of his chair. Father and son then embraced each other for the first time in a long time and held each other tight. The sight of it made Dean's heart swell as he knelt beside them and rubbed their shoulders. After a while, the three of them got out of the embrace and went back to their seats.

"Sam, does anyone else know about you being the Ghost Rider?" asked John, frowning. "Because now that I think about it; you didn't seem surprised to see us earlier. Did someone tell you that we were coming?"

Sam hesitated. "Everything supernatural knows about me, I guess. My predecessor and mentor, Carter Slade knows. He's the friend I mentioned earlier. And…" Sam sighed. "Bobby knows. He called and told me you were headed my way for a job. That's why I wasn't surprised to see you. I knew there was the very likely chance I'd run into you."

Dean and John stared for a moment before their jaws dropped and their anger returned upon hearing this.

"Wait a minute, Sam, you're telling us that Bobby knew about this?" demanded John, as Sam nodded. "You've got to be kidding me! When did you tell him and why didn't he tell us? And why did you tell him in the first place?"

Dean felt deeply hurt that Bobby Singer, a man Dean considered a second father and trusted with his life had known of Sam's whereabouts and about the deal for four years and yet he'd said nothing to them. How could he have done that to them?

"I needed someone to watch over you while I was gone and Bobby was the only one I could go to for help. The night I left, I went to see him first. I told him about the deal and asked him to look out for you guys for me," he explained, quietly. "He didn't want to keep secrets from you guys, but I made swear not to say anything. He only agreed to keep quiet when I promised him that if I had to, I'd tell you about the deal myself. Please don't get mad at him. He was just trying to help."

Dean was just as angry as John, but their anger was fading as they realized Bobby had only been trying to do the right thing. Bobby had only been looking out for Sam and who could find fault with him for that?

Deciding to change the subject, Dean asked, "So, Sam, what've you been doing these past four years?"

"Hunting," he replied. "Most of the stuff I've fought and hunted has been way beyond anything we've gone after before, but I usually pull through. I was the one who nailed Yellow-Eyes as you've probably guessed. I've done a lot of traveling and working. I visit Carter and Bobby sometimes, but otherwise I've been kind of reclusive for obvious reasons."

Dean and John just nodded. They were proud of what Sam had accomplished and weren't surprised when he spoke of his social life. Sam had always been a quiet, shy young boy and his reclusiveness was only to be expected, given what Sam had been going through.

"Do you have any idea what that creep Blackheart and his goons are or what it is they want?" asked Dean.

Sam shook his head. "No, but I'm betting Carter will. He's practically an expert on this kind of stuff. I'll call him." He took out his cell phone and dialed a number. "Hey Carter, it's me…uh, yes and no…my brother and dad are here…as well as can be expected…yeah, I know…listen, we need info, these new guys we're hunting are evil and I mean evil-evil…okay, see you then." He hung up his phone. "Carter will expect to see us around four-thirty. We'll need to leave at ten after four because it takes about twenty minutes to get there from here."

"Okay, sounds good," said Dean.

Sam rose to his feet, only to sway and nearly fall to his knees as Dean quickly caught him. That was when Dean got a good look at Sam's face. Sam's face was pale as milk, there were dark circles under his eyes and he looked exhausted.

"Jeez, Sam, have you been sleeping at all?" asked Dean, concerned.

Sam shook his head. "Not really," he admitted. "I haven't slept more than three hours for a while. Yesterday was the first time I've been home in a week as my last job was pretty nasty and I've been having some nightmares. I've been running on coffee and adrenaline for the past couple of days."

Dean and John shared appalled glances before sighing in exasperation. An entire week with only three hours' worth of sleep! It was a miracle Sam was even coherent, let alone able to fight against Blackheart and his goons as the Ghost Rider! Well, they'd soon fix that.

"That's it, you're going to get some sleep until we have to go see Slade," said Dean, firmly. "You need at least seven hours of sleep."

"Dean, I'll be fine. I'll manage. Really, I—" Sam was cut off.

"Humor your brother, son," interrupted John. "Besides, you're dead on your feet. You need to get some rest."

"Okay, okay. But only if you two get some sleep, too. You didn't drink all your coffee and you're both tired, I can tell," said Sam, firmly. "The spare bedroom is right next to mine and there're some clothes you can borrow."

"It's a deal," said Dean, glad he was cooperating.

Sam allowed Dean to take him to his room and despite his protests; Dean and John took off his boots and tucked him into bed. Sam was asleep the minute his head hit the pillow, showing just how exhausted he was.

Dean and John watched Sam sleep for a while before they went to their room. After getting changed into some pajamas Sam had left for them, they lied down on their beds and for a while, there was silence until John broke it.

"Dean, are you okay?" he asked.

Dean shook his head. "Ask me again when this is over." He let out a soft sighed. "I…I just can't believe this, any of this."

It was still boggling his mind that Sam, his Sammy, his sweet and innocent little brother had witnessed his family's deaths and sold his soul at age nine, hidden all his pains and lied to them, snuck off and had become the devil's bounty hunter all for the sake of keeping his family alive. It was just unbelievable, complete and utterly unbelievable. No one in their right mind would've suspected that their Sammy was anything like the vengeful creature that had saved them the previous night.

"Neither can I," said John, softly as he ran his hand through his beard. "I'm mad that he kept all this from us, but at the same time I can see why he did. I wish we'd never gone that down that alley. Stuff happens to hunters, but I never thought that this would happen to Sam of all people. Worst of all, he's been enduring all this alone. He doesn't deserve any of it."

"We both know that's right," said Dean, in agreement. He wanted to hug and throttle his little brother at that moment. He couldn't stand the thought of his little brother suffering alone for so long and he wasn't there to help him, but the sad truth of the matter was that it had happened anyway. Sam had chosen to sacrifice himself for the sake of his family's well-being. Typical Sam.

John sighed. "Heaven alone knows what he's been through but hasn't told us. That boy's so much like your mother—selfless to the end."

Dean nodded in agreement. His little brother had taken on their late mother's selflessness, unending compassion and loving heart; that much had always been clear.

"I'm still trying to get my head around this. Sam saw us die and he sold his soul for us, Dad," said Dean, his voice cracking. "He was only nine years old, for crying out loud! Even if we didn't remember dying that night, I still should've realized something was bothering him all those years! I should've seen through his little act the night he left! Why didn't I see it? I'm his big brother, I should've known!"

John reached over and Dean's hand. "You can't blame yourself, Dean. Sam fooled us all. I'm just as upset as you are, but the hard truth is, he did what any of us would've done. We can't change what happened in the past, but we can make a better future for all of us."

Dean just sighed. "I hope so, Dad." He really did. He would spend the rest of his life making this up to Sam, heaven help him.

"Get some sleep, son. You need it."

Dean nodded and after a few moments, fell asleep.

After an hour of sleep, Dean woke up not knowing how, but just knowing something was wrong. Careful not to wake his father, he got up and went to check on Sam.

Sam was still asleep, but he looked like he was having a nightmare. He was crying out and tossing and turning. When Dean placed his hand on Sam's shoulder, Sam immediately relaxed and the nightmare seemed to have ceased.

Knowing Sam needed him and being unwilling to let Sam out of his sight, Dean crawled in with Sam, and held him close just like he used to when they were kids. Dean smiled to himself when Sam curled into Dean's chest in his sleep, as if he was sensing his protector.

"Sleep well, little brother," he whispered. "I'll keep you safe." He then closed his eyes and allowed sleep to claim him.