Chapter Two

The door opened but no one came inside. Dean waited. After a long silence he heard noise. Down the hall, far beyond his field of vision, someone screamed. He tried to move, tried to make his so long unresponsive body move, but it resisted his efforts. All this time and when he heard the scream his first instinct was to go to it. To help, however he could.

He listened, helpless and frustrated, as the screams intensified and then abruptly cut away.

Silence again, this time a thick, heavy silence that made him anxious. He had no way of knowing what was happening but he knew it wasn't good. His instincts made him want to help but they also screamed; danger! Just like that damned robot in that stupid TV show Sam used to watch.

The door, open and waiting, revealed nothing.

/Move./ He begged his legs.

/Move!/ He pleaded with his arms.

/MOVE!/ He couldn't scream his frustration. How he hated this state. How he hated himself.

Movement. Just at the edges of the doorway. Other times he might have missed it but now, with his attention so keen on his surroundings, he saw. He waited. Movement again and then the edges of pale beige material. Jimmy, the intern who came to read to him once a week, stepped into view wearing a trenchoat? He hadn't worn anything like that before. His normal attire was cheap suits and under the trenchcoat he was wearing his usual suit.

He looked different, in ways Dean didn't fully understand. Same face, same thin body, same pale skin but something about his bearing and eyes made Dean uneasy. Jimmy moved into the room. Dean struggled against the bonds of his own mental decay.

What's going on, Jimmy? Why did I hear screaming? Of course Jimmy didn't hear his frantic thoughts, nor did he answer them. Angry, tired, overwhelmed Dean could only silently rage at his own uselessness.

Jimmy walked steadily to his bedside. Even the way he moved was different. He pressed two cold fingers pressed to Dean's forehead. Ice cold fingers.

I can feel that. Dean realized with a start. How could he know they were cold otherwise?

The sensation spread from his forehead to his shoulders, down his arms and torso, to his legs and finally his toes. He sat up with a loud gasp, his hands patting at his chest, his body shuddering.

He was moving!

How could he be moving?

How could he be feeling?

"What?" his voice cracked and sounded weak, even to his own ears. Water. He needed water. After so long, with nothing but tubes to feed and hydrate him, his throat was dry. Confusion and the sudden return of his faculties made him dizzy.

"We don't have much time," Jimmy said, his voice deep, gravelly and not at all as it had been before, "they'll be here soon."

"They?" Dean croaked.

Jimmy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him off the bed. Dean's legs weren't ready to be used, his brain didn't remember how to use them. He collapsed to the floor in a heap with Jimmy standing over him.

In other circumstances, if his brain hadn't been so foggy, Dean might have made a sarcastic comment or protested. Now he had enough trouble not puking, he couldn't be bothered with sarcasm or protests. His dignity, bruised and bothered by how things were going down, gave up on life and curled up in a little ball in the back of his head to die. Not that he needed it.

Jimmy crouched and again pressed his fingers to Dean's forehead. Warmth and strength pulsed from his fingers into Dean's body. Dean sighed when Jimmy pulled his hand back, "How do you feel now?"

"Stronger." His throat no longer hurt, his muscles tingled, the dizziness retreated.

"Get up."

"You... how did you?" Dean pulled himself up, using the bed for leverage. He expected his legs to give out again but instead they supported him as they should have the first time. How they had before he ended up in this cursed bed.

Jimmy stood at the doorway. He moved so swiftly Dean's head spun a bit. How could any human move that fast? Or did they always move that fast and he'd been stuck in limbo so long he had forgotten? Even now, with his brain, his soul and his body back in order, his memories were dense and hard to grasp.

More important questions nagged at him like; how was he standing? How was he aware and speaking? How could he feel his body? Feel his heart pounding away in his chest? Feel the sweat on his brow? This wasn't supposed to be possible. Not anymore. Not since Michael ripped him apart from the inside out.

"Move," Jimmy moved into the hallway and disappeared from sight.

Dean cursed. So there would be no time for questions, no time for adjusting, no time to assess. He had moments to consider his options. Follow the strange volunteer or stay here and wait for a doctor. Go after Mr. Beige Trenchcoat, or figure out where the hell his clothes were.

That scream from earlier echoed in his head.

Right. Not so many options then.

He forced his legs to move, stepping away from the bed and for the first time in many years he walked.

The hallway seemed eerily quiet. What time was it? Dean looked but there were no clocks and no windows. He tried to remember if his room has been lit by sunlight or the overhead lights but now he couldn't remember. Figuring out light source had been the least of his concerns then. If this was the early hours or late hours of the day the quiet would make sense but after that scream shouldn't this place be bustling?

"I'm brain damaged," Dean blurted, "that's what they say. Coma patient. I don't know how long I've been in there but it's been awhile. They said I would never wake up."

His body wasn't his body anymore. He was so thin. His muscles had turned soft. He was strong enough to walk but if they ran into his usual prey he wouldn't stand a chance. So he'd been there awhile. A long while. He had expected to be there until his physical body decayed and even then he hadn't been sure what would happen.

Soul burn. That's what Michael called it. 'Your soul will never inhabit your body again. Once you do this, you will be stuck in limbo, perhaps forever. Are you sure this is what you want? Are you sure you wish to say yes?' One of his rare, sharp memories. One of the few moments of his life that he could recall without effort.

"I shouldn't be up," Dean said.

Jimmy did not look back. If he heard Dean, he made no indication of it.

"What they don't know is that I've been there the whole time. Not brain dead. I was there. Watching. Listening. Do you have any id-"

"Quiet." Jimmy held up his hand.

Dean fell into a sullen silence.

At first he resented Jimmy trying to shut him up but then he heard the noise. Someone was walking somewhere down the labyrinth of halls. Somewhere they couldn't see. Dean leaned heavily against the wall.

His hunter instincts, dulled but still there, flared. Maybe, if this had happened a few hours ago, he might have called for a nurse. Maybe he would have blindly stumbled forward. Now he kept his silence and waited for Jimmy's next move. Much as he hated to admit it he had to rely on Jimmy's guidance. He had no clue what was going on, and until he knew he wouldn't know the best course of action.

The footsteps faded, growing softer and softer as the walker moved away from them.

Jimmy waved his hand and started forward once more. Dean followed. /Are you kidding me?/ He kept one hand on the wall to his right. His legs were holding him up but he didn't trust them.

Through the halls they went, stopping now and again at Jimmy's urging and continuing when he decided it was safe. Dean didn't bother with more questions. Not yet. There were many things he wanted to say but after that little 'incident', he didn't feel comfortable making noise. What was lurking in these halls? Vampires? Werewolves? No. Dean sensed this was something else, something bigger.

Finally they reached an emergency exit door which Jimmy pushed open. Sunlight glared in at them, blinding Dean momentarily. When his vision cleared he got a good look at the parking lot. "Shit," he breathed, "what the hell is this?"

Ambulances, vehicles, bodies... the parking lot was in a complete state of chaos. Despite the mayhem that faced him, all was still and quiet. The back of the ambulance nearest to them was open. A stretcher sat half in and half out of the vehicle. A woman with pale hair and even paler lips rested on that stretcher. She was dead. Dean could tell just by looking.

He looked away uneasily.

"It won't take them long to notice your absence. Hurry." Jimmy continued on as if this wasn't a shocking sight. As if he was used to seeing dead bodies abandoned on stretchers.

"This isn't right," Dean followed, or at least his body did. His brain struggled to keep up with events, "this isn't. Paramedics don't just leave bodies half in and half out of ambulances. People don't park nose to nose in the middle of lanes." Not in hospital parking lots at least, "This parking lot... what the hell is going on!"

"Quiet!" Jimmy whirled, facing him directly and fixing him with such a dead stare that Dean snapped his teeth together.

Dean met Jimmy's gaze directly, "Right." Quiet. They were still being hunted. Or were hunting. Dean still wasn't clear on that.

Jimmy looked away, "the vehicle isn't far. Keep up."

Whatever. Dean did keep up. Jimmy darted through the parking lot with all the grace and caution of a hunting cat. Dean followed with a bit less care. Some of the vehicles weren't abandoned. In one a single child sat in the back seat. Dean thought she was just resting at first. He reached for the door handle. He wasn't sure what he meant to do, ask her where her parents were? Tell her to come along? But as they passed he realized he'd been wrong.

/Shit./ He thought as he took in her pale, motionless face. /Shit, shit, shit./

Behind them, amplified by the absolute silence in the parking lot, a soft rustle. Like wings. Dean looked back expecting to see a bird but he saw nothing but abandoned cars. He must have paused too long, Jimmy grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward.

Before Dean looked away he noticed smoke steadily rising out of the side of the hospital. /Shit!/

"Novak! This way! Hurry up!" A voice shouted.

Dean struggled to see the source. Just outside the parking lot, idling in the street, rested a red van. The sliding back door swung open and a middle aged woman waved at them from inside, "hurry!"

Jimmy pushed Dean ahead, "Go."

Dean glanced back once more. Shadows moved past those windows he could see. Winged shadows.

Staying seemed unwise.

Going seemed equally unwise.

/To hell with it. I've already died once./ Dean climbed into the back of the van.

Hands pulled at the back of his jacket. Voices cried out to Jimmy, "Hurry! Novak! MOVE IT!"

Inside the van Dean could see only dark shadows. Shadowed faces that grabbed at him and pulled him even deeper into the van. Jimmy climbed in. The woman slammed the van door shut, "DRIVE!"

"They're here!"

The van shuddered. Something on the roof? Dean tried to see. The darkness, now that the door was closed, made it impossible to tell if he was even looking up. Not that he could see anything through the van's roof anyway.

Crunch.

The engine roared. Inertia pulled him back as the van shot forward. Light shone through the front window. As his eyes adjusted he realized it wasn't as dark as he'd first thought. In fact, there was enough light for him to see his surroundings. The woman sitting across from him, holding a rifle and staring up at the roof, was not a stranger.

"Ellen?"

"Dean." she spared him a glance, "god, it's good to see you."

"What the hell-"

"Long story kid. We g-"

Her voice was cut off by a loud shrieking crunch. The roof bent. "What the fuck is that?" Dean searched for a weapon.

He found a rifle beside him. That's when he spotted Will and Gordon. "You guys too?"

"Hey Dean. It's loaded." William held a pistol, he nodded at the rifle Dean had just grabbed. He aimed his pistol at the roof and fired off three quick shots.

The bullets tore through the roof. Above them whatever was attacking shrieked. Black liquid seeped through the new bullet holes in the van's roof. /Ventilation./ Dean thought as he lifted the rifle.

Jimmy stood, having to hunch his back to get to his feet. "Hold on," he ordered before he pressed his hands to the rooftop.

He began to glow.

Soft, blue light seemed to flow through his very pores. His eyes turned to white orbs. Dean aimed the rifle at Jimmy. Will grabbed his arm and shook his head, "He's not the enemy," he said quietly.

Dean reluctantly lowered the rifle.

The light burst, turning so brilliant for a moment that the world faded to white.

The engine roared.

Someone cursed.

The world faded back into view.

Jimmy lowered himself to the van floor beside Ellen, who looked at him with wide eyes. "That's a nifty trick," she said, "care to do that more often."

"I am not here to fight your battles for you." Jimmy answered in monotone.

Dean waited but it seemed the thing was gone. The roof didn't creak, crack or shriek again. He set the rifle down at his side. Through the front window he could see the world speeding past. They passed innumerable parked vehicles but he didn't see a single soul. Not walking, not driving, not peering curiously through a store window. The world was deserted.

At least he had an answer to one question. He knew now why Jimmy seemed so different.

"So you're an angel," Dean looked at Not-Jimmy pointedly, "and I'm awake. What the fuck Ellen?"

Will chuckled, "I figured you'd take this well."

"The world's gone to shit," Ellen said in her typical blunt fashion, "we're losing, Dean. Things are bad. Real bad."

"What do you mean?" Dean frowned, "Michael defeated th-"

"Michael did his best but he did a piss poor job. Lucifer is back, Dean. He's back and he's stronger than ever."

"Back?" Dean repeated dumbly. His eyes traveled to Not-Jimmy, whatever was IN Jimmy. "No," he shook his head slowly from side to side. They couldn't be back for him. His heart hammered hard in his chest, sweat immediately beaded on his forehead. Just thinking about that made him ill. "No! I am not doing that again! I won't! I refuse!"

"It's not that," Ellen said quickly.

Not-Jimmy's eyebrow cocked upward.

"He's not here to ask you to ... Michael is gone." Ellen spoke so fast Dean had a hard time processing her words, or maybe he was just so overwhelmed with panic that he had forgotten English, "when Lucifer crawled out of the pit, his first target was Michael. I don't know how it happened or why, I wasn't there, but Michael is gone."

"He acquired his vessel," Not-Jimmy said, "and with the strength of his vessel he was able to defeat Michael."

"His vessel?" Dean repeated numbly, "what vessel?"

Ellen looked at Not-Jimmy. She shook her head ever so slightly. "I know you have a lot of questions, Dean, but now isn't the time. We need to get you to a safe house. We need to get you patched up and we need to work on getting you back into shape. I'm sorry we had to wake you, especially to this, but we can't fight this fight without your help Dean."

"Sam," Dean said, "where is Sam?"

Ellen flinched.

"We lost contact a few days back," Ellen said softly, "we don't know where he is."

"You lost... you..." Dean's hands clenched into tight fists, "where... where was he last?" Sam had to be okay. He'd just seen him. He had to be okay.

"Dean. We have to get you to safety. Can I explain then? There's so much an-"

"Where was he last!" Dean snapped.

Ellen sighed, "On the trail of a possible weapon. Transdimensional... something or other. He said it could help."

"He's been looking for it for months," Will said, "but a few days ago we got a call. He said he'd found it. He said he was going to use it."

"We begged him not to," Ellen said, "we told him it was too unknown. Too risky. He wouldn't listen."

"Last we heard, he was turning it on..."

"That's when everything went to shit! Even more than it was. This hoarde of demons-" Ellen winced.

"That's when he showed up," Will interrupted Ellen, his eyes moving to Not-Jimmy, "claiming to be a messenger of God. Asking to speak to Dean Winchester."

"I won't do it again," Dean snapped, but his words lacked their earlier bite. Bottom line was, he would do it again. If it meant saving Sam. He'd give up anything to save Sam. This was his one true strength and his biggest weakness. Even though it was a mistake, even though it was hopeless, he'd do it to save Sam. God! What had Sam gotten himself into this time?

"I have been attempting to speak to you for many months," Not-Jimmy said and his voice, quiet and rough though it was, made everything else seem to slow down and fade away. When Not-Jimmy spoke, Dean couldn't help but focus on his every word. As if in those words hid something important. Something he needed and wanted. Something he didn't understand yet. "Unfortunately in your state you were unable to respond to my queries."

"My... state?"

"Complete and total mental failure. I was unable to heal you without the assistance of this body. If I had touched you in my true form, you would have melted."

"Pleasant mental image."

Not-Jimmy cocked his head to the side, "You enjoy the thought of your body melting?"

"Sarcasm," Dean said, "it's sarcasm angel face."

"Now that I have revived you," Not-Jimmy continued, "it is imperative we continue our mission."

"Our mission? No. Your mission. My mission is to find Sam." Dean turned his gaze from Not-Jimmy with some difficulty, "Ellen. Where was Sam? Last you heard from him? I have to find him. I have to make sure he's okay."

"It won't be that easy, Dean. You don't understand. The world isn't what it was when you... when you gave yourself to Michael. You won't be able to just hop in a car and drive to where Sam is. That's not how it works anymore."

Dean shook his head, "No. You don't understand, Ellen. I don't care what the hell this world is now. All I care about is Sam. I will go to hell itself if I have to, and you know I would because I've done it before, but I will make sure Sam is safe."

"He is not safe." Not-Jimmy said.

"Shush!" Ellen growled, "goddamn it."

"You're hiding something," Dean realized, "tell me about Sam, Ellen."

Ellen lowered her eyes, "I don't think that's wise, Dean."

"Let's get you to the safe house first. Give you some time to rest and process-" Will placed his hand on Dean's back.

There unwillingness to share made him all the more anxious and angry. Dean pushed Will away, "TELL ME ABOUT SAM!" He didn't mean to yell quite so loud but panic made his control over his voice tenuous.

"He accepted Lucifer's invitation," Not-Jimmy said calmly, "he is now nothing more than a vessel."

The world faded out of focus.

"No."

/No!/

Sammy at his bedside. So pale. So burdened.

"NO!"

/"I need you, Dean, how am I going to do this without you?"/

"NO!"

/"I love you, brother."/

"SAM!"

The screams tore out of him in a steady stream. Hands grabbed at his arms. Voices called. He heard nothing but that damned calm voice. He knew he was out of control, he knew he had slipped over the edge of sanity but he couldn't stop himself.

Sam. A vessel. Sam what he was. Sam...

/"He is now nothing more than a vessel."/

He fought, as if the hands that held him were the hands that now held Sam.

As if fighting these people, here and now, would somehow free his brother.

"SAM!"