A/N: Thanks for the reviews, guys. I hope you're enjoying reading it as much as I am writing it.

Dean was speechless.

There had only been a few times in which he had lost the ability to speak. Once when a blonde walked up to him, slapped him, then proceeded to lift her shirt and show him her breasts. Once when Sam was young and had expressed interest in trying ballet (which, after the long stretch of silence, was followed by an uproar of endless laughter). But now, standing there in Lisa's living room, his speech was stuck in his throat, even as he gazed upon the fallen angel before him.

He didn't know what to feel. Should he feel angry because if Sam was alive he hadn't yet made any sort of contact? Joy because his brother was alive and that was all that mattered? Fear because there had to be some sort of catch? These things didn't just happen. Dean took a deep breath and blinked. He had to make sure he'd heard the angel right. Of course Ramiel could have lied about it, but what did he gain from that?

"Excuse me?" Dean finally asked roughly, taking a small step toward Ramiel, who was struggling to sit up on the couch.

"You heard me," he said firmly, gazing up at Dean. "Sam's alive. But that's not important right now. You need to get out of here."

Dean shook his head incredulously. "No," he said, more to himself than to the angel. "No, I have to go find him." His head snapped back to Ramiel. "Where is he? I swear, if you dicks laid one finger on him, so help me, I will—."

"I don't know where he is, Dean," Ramiel said harshly, a twinge of pink flushing his rather pale face. "But I know who does. We have to go to him."

"Go to who?" Dean asked skeptically. He didn't want to go through this again. Last time he searched for someone who knew someone who knew someone…it didn't work out so well. He remembered Castiel's quest for God. He remembered Joshua. He remembered the bitter disappointment of failing to find someone who did not want to be found.

"My brother knows where Sam is. And he can protect us," Ramiel said, gripping his side and pushing himself up to a standing position.

Dean considered. "Ok. Which brother are we talking about?" Among the angels he'd met quite a few, and to be frank, he didn't want to run into any of them again.

"You know him," Ramiel said. He stumbled forward and gripped Dean's shoulder for support. "I think I can get us there. Got enough juice for another trip or two," he said gruffly, trying to sound confident though Dean could hear the uncertainty in his voice. "Anyway, it's the only way we'll get to him. We can't take your…preferred means of transportation." His crystal eyes glanced toward the direction of the garage, and Dean wondered how much Ramiel actually knew about him.

"Which brother?" Dean insisted, just as Ramiel lifted his hand to put on Dean's forehead.

Ramiel paused, his fingers an inch away from their destination. He shook his head and smiled, that same wry smile which seemed to consist of part sincerity, part mockery. Dean opened his mouth to question again, but before he could say anything he was being jerked through space, Ramiel's fingers having touched his forehead.

• • •

Sam swallowed another shot and slammed the glass on the table, throat stinging. The bartender glanced at him warningly, then returned to his task of drying a glass with an old rag.

The bar was nearly empty, as it was very late—or very early, depending on how you looked at it. The only other people consisted of a few men huddled in a dark corner, sharing their fifth pitcher of beer, an old man at the other end of the bar, and two drunk girls who seemed to offer their "services" to anyone who entered the bar. The men were staring at Sam, who was unsuccessfully attempting to ignore them.

Sam unfolded his newspaper again. He'd gone over it dozens of times already, but for some reason he hoped the text would change the next time he opened it. No jobs. No jobs meant no money, and no money meant no drinking. And no motels. But the drinking was what he was more concerned with at the given moment.

That, and he needed to busy himself. He couldn't stand the hours he spent alone—wherein lied his core problem: sleep. He didn't want to sleep. The nightmares were enough for him to force down several red bull in resistance.

Sure, remembering hell sucked. It sucked a whole lot. But then again, when comparing to Dean's supposed experience, Sam thought he had it pretty good. He'd been locked in a cage, taunted by all, possessed by Lucifer…. But that was just it. Hell wasn't the worst part. It was Lucifer. Having his mind controlled for what had seemed like eternity had changed him.

Sam shook his head. He had to stop thinking about it. He was on Earth now, and that was all that mattered. His hand twitched near his pocket, feeling the cell phone beneath the fabric. Again, he repressed his urge to call Dean. He made a promise. He couldn't call Dean. Dean was with Lisa and Ben.

He was better off without Sam.

At least that's what Sam kept telling himself. Still, it was hard knowing his brother was merely a phone call away. The self-control it took not to call Dean was astonishing. Sam ran an agitated hand through his hair and stood up. The whispers coming from the men in the corner stopped abruptly. Sam slammed down some cash and walked out of the bar, knowing quite well that the men would follow him. It happened more often than not.

"Hey pretty boy," he heard one of them call as he walked out of the front door.

Just leave it, he told himself. He balled his hands into fists and shoved them in his jacket pockets, resolved not to do anything drastic. Only a few more paces to his motorcycle.

"I'm talkin' to you, boy," the man said, voice louder.

Ignore them. Sam gritted his teeth and straddled his motorcycle.

"You're Sam Winchester, right?"

"Who wants to know?" Sam stood back up, drawing to full height. He peered at the man in the dark. Just another drunk hunter, he presumed. His hand settled on top of his knife in his pocket—insurance.

The man grinned maliciously, eyes shining in the dim glow of the streetlights.

"We've been looking for you."