"I may have something," Bobby said. He turned the dusty tome he'd been reading around so that both Dean and Castiel could see it. "Lucifer isn't your typical demon, but he can be exorcised. It's been centuries since he was locked up for good, but before that he did have the ability to wriggle out of Hell, just like the demons we deal with today. Knowing that, the Church developed a very specific exorcism for ousting him from a living host." Bobby shrugged. "For lessor demons that rite is overkill, and it eventually fell out of use. They just didn't need it anymore after Lucifer was no longer an issue."

"How is that going help us?" Castiel skimmed through the rite as it was written, easily able to read and understand the ancient text. "It releases him. Sam's death will accomplish the same thing."

"We don't want Sam to die," Dean retorted.

Castiel threw up his hands in a purely human gesture of frustration. "What part of this don't you people understand? Sam will die, we'll all die, if Lucifer is set free!"

"Not if we can keep him locked up in one place," Bobby said, throwing a glance at Dean.

Dean raised a brow. "The panic room."

Bobby nodded. "It will hold him for a while."

"A while?" Dean shook his head. "Bobby...."

"A while," Bobby insisted. "Until Sam can send him back to Hell."

No one said anything. In the hearth behind Bobby's desk, a fire popped and crackled. A storm had rolled in, and a cold wind rattled the windows and whistled eerily through the gap beneath the front door. If one were standing outside on the porch one could hear a metallic creak as towers of junked cars swayed precariously in the gale. From a distant part of the house the wind was echoed by a moaning cry. It was a cry of anger, frustration, and pain – incoherent and primal. What followed was a sob, and a pitiful, whimpering call that could be understood.

"Dean? Dean....DEAN!"

Dean abruptly exited, leaving Castiel and Bobby alone to finish the discussion.

"You're assuming," Castiel said softly. "Sam will actually survive the exorcism. That in itself is a large assumption. Assuming he survives and has strength left to send Lucifer back to Hell is complete farce."

Bobby tipped back his hat and peered out at the angel from beneath the battered brim. His eyes were cool, his gaze direct. He still had a bone to pick with Castiel, and after seeing the angel in his human guise, looking like a young version of bumbling detective Columbo, the old Hunter was no longer quite as intimidated by him.

"Son," he said. "You got a better idea?"

"No," the angel admitted.

"Then God forgive me – shut your pie hole."

Dean handcuffed Sam to the Impala's interior door handle and made sure no weapons, poison, or random sharp pointy objects were within his brother's reach. When Sam regained his senses he sat up and jiggled the cuffs experimentally before settling into a sullen, grouchy silence. Apparently having a suicide attempt foiled had gotten his panties in a wad up his ass.

"You okay?" Dean asked finally. The glassy stare and the scowl had gotten to him. "Sam?"

"You should have let me do it."

"No, I shouldn't have let you do it."

"I can feel him," Sam said quietly. "The closer she gets to the final seal...."

"We'll get her Sammy, I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Dean." With a sigh, Sam turned away. "I've been there, done that. It just makes it hurt more in the end."

They said no more. Sam stared out the window. Dean concentrated on driving. They were heading East, back to South Dakota where Bobby was waiting for their arrival. In the distance a bright sunny day was dawning over the horizon. Dean turned on his music. It did not distract him from his worries. It also failed to get a rise out of Sam as it once might have. Had they a psychic in the back seat he or she would have picked up only exhaustion and fear, fear that their utter, final defeat was just around the corner.

Dean drove on though the prairie, weaving the Chevy around curving rural roads. Rolling down the window he sucked in a deep breath of fresh, warm air, the first hint of Spring. Only a month ago he'd hit an age milestone; he'd turned thirty. Sometimes, however, when he allowed himself to think about it, he tacked on an additional forty years. Dean didn't think those extra forty years showed. Sometimes they did. Sam saw it. Anyone close to him would have seen it.

They showed during the quiet moments when he seemed to be looking elsewhere, remembering the past, contemplating the future. Before Hell Dean rarely experienced such moments. To call him a coward was unfair. Cautious, yes, but not cowardly. He'd lived a lifetime of horrors. Day and night for forty years his life had been centered around pain and suffering, both giving and taking. Sometimes he was afraid it had become a habit, and rising from the grave had been akin to quitting cold turkey. He wasn't anxious to jump back into anything, afraid of the monster that might be lurking behind the corner.

Abruptly, not far from the long drive leading to Singer's Salvage, Dean reached over and switched off the radio. "Sam."

"Yeah."

"If I have to, I will. You know that don't you?"

Sam was quiet for a moment before he answered. "There's only one seal left, Dean," he said softly.

"I know."

"We don't always get advance notice...."

"Yeah, well Cas says even if the seal is broken, there's still time to gank the bastard. He's got to get through you."

Sam shifted his weight in his seat and sighed. "That's real reassuring."

"I don't know what else to say, Sam," Dean said quietly. His resolute stare remained trained on the road ahead. "I don't know what else to think. This situation is crap in every direction. Look, we'll hook up with Bobby and figure out what to do. If we have to chase Lilith all over the fucking planet, we'll get her, okay?"

After a pause, Sam said, "What if she's in Australia?"

"Oh, well in that case I'll just shoot you."

"I don't believe you, Dean. You've literally been to Hell and back and you're still afraid of flying?"

"You kill demons with your mind and have the Devil himself riding shotgun inside you but you're still afraid of clowns?"

Sam frowned. "Clowns are scary-ass bastards with evil little agendas."

"And big floppy shoes."

"Shut up."

Dean piloted the Impala off of the main highway and down a long, narrow dirt track. The route was as familiar and comfortable as their banter, but the uneven ruts in the road now spoke of age and neglect, and beneath their light-hearted exchange there existed an air of finality. Their attempt to reclaim normalcy fell short somehow, felt sour. Something had been lost that they just couldn't get back.

"You know," Dean said. "That demon in Ohio, Casey – she and Father Gil were getting it on."

"Okay, random. What does that have to do with clowns?"

"What? No, no...forget the clowns. I'm talking about Casey and the Priest – well he wasn't really a priest, obviously...."

Sam rested his head on the window and fiddled with the handcuffs in an attempt to make them at least a bit more comfortable. "Okay. Casey and Gil...." he prompted.

"They were...friends. They stuck together you know, even in Hell." Dean shifted his hands around, nervously changing their position on the steering wheel. "I....I saw stuff....souls....people. ...not many but...." He muttered a curse under his breath. "What I'm trying to say, Sammy is that if....if it comes to that, I'm not letting you go alone. I'll have your back. I'll always have your back, no matter what happens. You understand what I'm saying?"

"Dean.....don't."

"I've been there. I was there a long time. I know how the system works? I can't promise I can protect you down there, but I'll do whatever I can do. I swear, Sam. Remember that."

"Dean...."

"Dude, come on just let me...." Dean stopped abruptly, staring at a point just beyond the Impala's long hood. "Sam."

"Yeah." Sam sat up straighter in his seat. "I see her."

A woman stood at the gate of Singer Salvage, a rare and unusual sight, especially since Bobby – by way of the Winchesters – had become so deeply involved in the nasty goings-on between Heaven and Hell. The loner had become even more of a loner, suspicious of anyone who ventured into his territory. If he had a visitor he knew, he would have called and given the boys a heads-up.

Dean slowed the car to a stop. Without taking his eyes off the woman he reached into his pocket and handed Sam the keys to the handcuffs. "I have a bad feeling about this."

"Uh-huh," Sam quickly freed himself.

The woman stood about four yards in front of the Chevy's hood, and as the brothers exited the car they could see that they had misjudged her age. Her clothes, subtly mirroring their own, made her appear older. A loose denim shirt over a tee and jeans hid the lack of definition to her body, and the battered workboots she wore made her slightly taller. Her true age was no more than thirteen or fourteen.

There was blood on her shirt and a pout on her face.

"I asked Bobby to play with me but he wouldn't." She waved one hand toward the wrecking yard, where the junked cars created a maze of steel stretching out for at least three acres around Bobby's house. "Isn't this just the best place for hide and seek?" When she turned back around she was grinning. "Now you're here! This is great! You can be it."

"Lilith," Sam breathed.

The girl's eyes flashed white and she laughed. An instant later she was off and running into the wrecking yard as fast as she could go. "Catch me if you can!"

Sam gave Dean a shove before taking off in pursuit. "Go! Check on Bobby!"

"Are you kidding?" Stride for stride Dean followed. "I'm not leaving you alone with her!"

They both came to a stop.

"She can't hurt me!" Sam insisted. "Whatever she's up to, it has something to do with the last seal!"

"Exactly, and I'm not leaving you out there alone!"

"Bobby…."

"Bobby is…" There was no time for grief. It could come later. "You saw the blood, you heard what she said. Bobby's dead, Sam." Drawing Ruby's knife, Dean started out into the maze of dead cars. "Stay with me."

"No! We'll cover more ground if we…."

Dean turned around grabbed Sam by the front of his jacket. "I said no!"

Angrily, Sam shook him off and turned away. "We're wasting time with this." He broke into a jog. "Come on!"

They quickly came to a crossroad, a place where two of the wide aisles intersected with tall stacks of crushed car bodies at three corners, and a pile of discarded hubcaps at another. A crudely painted sign pointed scavengers toward different sections of the yard containing car parts from various eras. Under different circumstances Sam might have found it funny that Dean automatically chose the direction of Fenders and Doors 1965-71.

Sam yanked him back toward Carbs and Camshafts 1970-76. "This way."

"How do you know?"

"I just know."

A rattle and a crash from somewhere ahead of them confirmed Sam's suspicions. Their pace quickened when they rounded another corner just in time to see Lilith slip through a gap between two smashed pick-ups. Dean immediately followed, struggling through the small space nearly all the way to the other side before realizing Sam couldn't follow. Being just a few inches taller and broader made all the difference.

"Go around!" Dean jerked his pantleg free from a snag and stumbled back into the dusty aisle. He saw Lilith pause at the end of the row, look back over her shoulder, and duck around the corner. "Sam!"

Getting separated from Sam was the last thing Dean wanted to do. As he took after Lilith he too looked back over his shoulder, cursing when he saw Sam had not gone around to the end of the row, but had obviously headed off in another direction. Dean hesitated between going after Sam, or continuing after Lilith. Lilith was the most logical choice. He growled as he followed the course the she-demon had set.

"What the hell game are you really playing?"

Dean had a score to settle with Lilith. Her hands bore more than just his own blood, but also that of countless innocent people, and now Bobby too. He'd send her back to the Pit for that alone, and would be sorely tempted to follow her back down to torture her himself. There were things Alastair had taught him, foul, hateful things, that he could do to make it most satisfying. For Lilith he would gladly free the monster. First, however, she had to be located and killed.

The wind had picked up, making the piles of junk creak and clatter. Sound carried in odd ways, sometimes echoing, sometimes falling flat; it was hard to determine the direction from which it came. Dean paused frequently to listen. If Lilith turned the tables and came after him he would have little defense against her.

Girlish laughter attracted his attention to the next row over. There were no shortcuts through the wrecks this time; he had to run swiftly to the end of his row, crouched low, knife ready. If Lilith had just the slightest opening she would kill him. He had to be quick and decisive.

At the end of the row he stopped. Indistinct voices lured him around the corner. There was no one there. They had moved already, or were never there in the first place. The wind was playing tricks on him.

There. A sound. His name. Sam's voice.

Lilith had somehow circled back around through the maze to where it opened up into a large lot near the garage. This was where Dean had rebuilt his car, where Bobby had once chased John Winchester off his property with a shotgun. Now, as Dean crouched down behind the burned out carcass of a battered SUV, it was the place where Sam had finally cornered Lilith.

She stood in front of the SUV, holding a small wooden box in her hand. Sam faced her but had not made any move on her. Whatever was staying his hand was of no concern to Dean. He assessed the situation in a single glance, and in a heartbeat he began to move into action. Coming around the SUV he clamped one hand down over the box, and curled his arm around Lilith's throat.

"Good-bye, bitch."

"DEAN!!! NO!!!"

The sound of Bobby's living voice made him falter, but Ruby's knife was sharp and easily sliced through the young girl's throat. There was no resistance. Lilith rolled her head back to look up at her killer with her eyes gone white and her lips stained with blood - lips curled in a smile. Dean could not hear her voice, but he could make out the words she mouthed to him as she died.

"The last seal...."

Dean let the body fall from his arms, his gaze automatically going to the box in his hand. It was nothing but an old cigar box, battered and stained and completely empty. Puzzled he looked to Bobby for explanation. The horrified expression on the old Hunter's face brought him up short. The fear in Sam's voice made him realize his error.

"Oh God, Dean....she duped us. She duped us!"

"It was a trick?" Dean frowned, looking down at the body at his feet. "She wanted me to kill her?"

"The last seal. It was a sacrifice." Bobby whispered, his voice trembling. "Dean. What have you done?"

"What? I don't...."

Dark clouds began spilling in overhead. The wind kicked up to gale force, tugging their clothes taut against their bodies, making them stagger on their feet. Bobby clamped a hand down on his hat. Whatever Dean was going to say was sucked away with his breath. Behind them Sam stood with arms outstretched, feet spread, his body arched back into the wind. Dust and debris swirled around him in miniature whirlwinds. His hair whipped his cheeks. Dean shouted his name but there was no response, only a wide-eyed, terrified stare.

"SAM!"

A guttural scream, hoarse and inhuman played counterpoint to the wind. Sam's chest began to expand outward as his body bent back even further. The crack of bones breaking sounded like gunshots. Sam's screams became shrieks of pain. For a moment two separate and distinct voices could be heard issuing from Sam's throat, one very clearly his own, and the other the roar of a beast. Dean started to go to him, but never made it. A strong hand grabbed him and threw him to the ground, a hand whose grasp he had felt once before.

"Close your eyes!" Castiel shouted.

"Don't..." Dean tried to rise again, and again Castiel thrust him aside. Struggling in the dirt, battered by the wind, Dean reached out after the angel who was making a rush at Sam. "Don't kill him! Cas! NO!"

Bobby tackled him before he could rise, pinning Dean down under his weight. Both of them ducked their heads as a brilliant light erupted around Castiel's human form, spreading outward to engulf the entire yard, swallowing Sam's writhing body. The bestial voice, once raised in triumph, became filled with fury, cursing the angel for his interference. It grew fainter as the light brightened, until all that could be heard was Sam's voice crying out in pain.

When the light faded, the wind died, and the ominous clouds above dissolved into a gentle, soothing rain shower. Castiel knelt in the mud, looking ragged and worn, his hair and clothes rain sodden and dirty. He raised a shaking hand to wipe blood from his nose, looking more human than one of God's celestial warriors. On his hands and knees before the angel, Sam coughed violently and spat blood out into the dirt before slowly straightening with a gasp. He swayed, clutching one hand to his side.

The final scene played out like the tragedy of two years earlier. A chilling sense of deja vu enveloped them as Dean skidded to his knees in front of his brother and grasped Sam's face in his hands, holding him steady. This time, however, the end had been re-written....

And not necessarily for the better.

Soaked to the bone from the chilling rain, and possibly fighting off shock, Sam managed to spill a few words past his chattering teeth.

"Too late," he whispered, and then passed out in Dean's arms.