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Author's Note: One last exam to go and then I'm done! Yay! I'll probably get to review replies on Saturday or Sunday, and in the meantime here's the next chapter. ;-)

Thanks to Cheryl for all the help with this story.

Thanks to Katy M VT, Taeriel, Starfan 1245, XspriteyX, Nyx Ro, cold kagome, APRIL26, SandyDee84, casammy, samantha-dean, sarah, jayfeather63, BranchSuper, Sparkiebunny, TinTin11, SPN Mum, twomoms, Eavis, mselphabathropp109, teal-lover, Amy90, Hunnique, jensengirl4eva, Lilyoda, ja jestem kaczka and godsdaughter77 for the reviews! You guys are the best!

Now let's get back to tormenting those boys…

Chapter VI: A Time to Mourn, and a Time to Dance

Dean didn't have to take too much junk out of the box before he found the photographs. I recognized a couple from the carton that woman – Jane? Jenny? Jean? – gave us after we got rid of the poltergeist for her. There were a lot more that I didn't recognize.

There were a few with just me, or of me with Mom or Dad, but most of them were of me and Dean. Dean was carrying me (pretty easily considering how small he was himself), holding me in his lap (and supporting my neck expertly – no wonder he was so good with that baby shifter), huddling under the blankets with me and laughing at whoever was holding the camera…

He was right. How could he have forgotten? It made no sense. He'd been less than three months shy of his fifth birthday the night Azazel came. That wasn't old enough for him to remember a lot, but it was old enough that he should've been able to remember the existence of another person – even a small one.

I didn't really think Mom and Dad would've tried to wipe his memory. That left –

I was damned if I knew. I was pretty sure there couldn't be a Great Wall of Dean; if six months had suddenly gone missing from Dean's memories, someone would have noticed –

Would they?

How would anyone know? If an angel or demon had wanted to wipe Dean's memories of me… They couldn't have done it right away. It would have been way too suspicious. But a year or two later? Who would have known? It's not like you ever actually think about stuff that happened to you when you were four, and if you ever do… You're unlikely to be too concerned if you don't remember exactly.

It would have been too easy.

I needed answers, and I wasn't going to get them like this. This was all too much to be coincidence. There was something going on. Gabriel was after something, and I had to find out what.

"Hey, Sammy?" Dean said, cutting into my thoughts.

"It's Sam," I said automatically. Dean didn't hear, and so he ignored it, which was what usually happened anyway.

"Look at this one."

Dean was holding up a picture I hadn't seen before. It was the two of us, probably on the day I was born. Dean was sitting in a big chair, ubiquitous hospital curtains behind him, holding a bundle in his arms. The baby's tiny fingers grasped Dean's not much bigger one, and that was all you could see of me. Dean, on the other hand, was looking down at his charge with an expression of… Well, words can't describe it. He looked thrilled and proud and protective and adoring and…

Dean grinned at me a little shakily.

"You see, Sammy? No way I'm ever going to hurt you. If you want to talk to me, now would be a good time."

And I realized something that, knowing Dean, I should probably have realized that morning. Missouri had told him I'd talk when I was ready, and Dean had looked more instead of less unhappy, and had promptly followed it up by driving us out to the middle of nowhere so he could promise me that he wouldn't shoot me.

I should have guessed.

Dean was feeling hurt. Alternate dimension or not, Dean was still Dean: one part stubborn, one part annoying, and eight parts big brother. My big brother. It was what he was, and he had always been stupidly possessive of his job. And now he was feeling hurt because he thought I didn't trust him enough to talk to him.

This was stupid. I knew how to work Dean's cell phone pretty well by now, and I wasn't an idiot. I could let him know I was there without giving anything away.

I focused, and in a few seconds I had what I wanted. Dean's cell phone beeped.

He took it out. Just for the heck of it, I unlocked it before he could. The keypad lights flickered as I zapped the keys. Dean seemed more amused than scared.

"Nice. Now let's see if you can actually do something useful, little brother."

He opened the message. I leaned in, curious to see who would be listed as the sender. I was pretty sure 'Psychic Spirit' wasn't going to be one of the options.

I turned out to be right; it was the more normal (and, as Dean grumbled, boring) 'Private Number'.

Hello, Dean.

I know, I know… Lame. But what else could I have done? Dean didn't remember anything about me; if I'd started straight out with "Hey jerk" he would probably have decided we were both insane.

"Is that you, Sam?" Dean asked.

The phone beeped again. Dean opened the new message.

Yes.

"Dude, there has to be an easier way to conduct a conversation than this. The message alert is annoying."

I flicked the phone to silent before I sent him the next message. He rolled his eyes, muttered, "Show-off," and opened it.

We could try the laptop.

The laptop was a lot easier. With a few minutes' practise I got the hang of it enough that I didn't actually need to be looking at it, so I could walk around while Dean hunched over his laptop.

Dude. You'll get arthritis. Sit up straight.

"Health advice from a ghost?" Dean grumbled, but he sat up nonetheless. "My life is weird." Then he cast a brief, apologetic glance in my direction, as though afraid he'd offended me.

Seriously? I typed. This is the weird thing about your life?

"Certainly weirder than anything else I've ever done. You're not supposed to be all grown up. What happened, Sam? What's going on?"

There it was. The question I couldn't answer.

I hesitated, wondering what to say. Evidently I waited too long, because Dean spoke again. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to push you – I mean, you barely know me. Why would you trust me?"

That hurt tone absolutely did not belong in my big brother's voice.

Of course I trust you. There's just a lot I can't say right now… Not until I know how much you know.

"Back to the Future kind of thing?"

You could say so, yeah.

"OK… So what do you need to know?"

Tell me everything you know about the Apocalypse.

I'd thought and thought about it, and I'd come to the conclusion that that was what Gabriel was after. Not necessarily the Apocalypse itself, but something related to it. I was sure of it. And the only way to sort this out was to figure out exactly how the end of the world was playing out in this dimension – and which unfortunate idiot was going to have to take my place.

Because there was one thing I did know – if the Cage was open, then getting myself out of being Lucifer's vessel couldn't possibly solve everything. It would just shift the burden from my shoulders to somebody else's.

The story was concise. Azazel had gone around collecting his special children – minus Sam Winchester, although Dean didn't know that – and the hunting community had grown suspicious. They'd gone to Cold Oak in time to see Jake and Azazel make their getaway and had then tracked them to the Devil's Gate. Jake had opened it, and in the resulting firefight Dean had fallen through just before it had closed. He'd broken – he confessed that guiltily – and with him had broken the first seal. Shortly thereafter, an angel called Castiel had pulled him up.

I held my tongue. Maybe in this place Castiel wasn't –

Getting from one to sixty-six had apparently taken a lot longer in this world. Two and a half years, give or take; Bobby and Mom and Dad had chased down the seals, trying to prevent them from breaking. They had been misled and played by both sides, and they hadn't been able to stop anything. Meanwhile, Dean and David had been searching for Lilith – they'd believed, like I'd done, that killing her would stop it. Dean had been looking into demonic activity in Minnesota and Dave had been in Wyoming when Bobby had called with a confirmed sighting of Lilith in Maryland.

They went there and –

Dean's voice broke with self-condemnation. I knew the feeling… And Dean should never be feeling that. The one thing I'd been grateful for when it'd happened had been that I'd been the one to kill Lilith and not Dean; I had a lifetime's experience of dealing with guilt.

It wasn't your fault, I typed. You didn't know.

That was not an excuse I'd made for myself – because I should have known. Dean, for all his bravado and muttering about how I was a little girl, had always been the more trusting of us. I was willing to believe that most people had good intentions, but there had only ever been one person in the world whom I truly, fully and completely trusted – and I'd still let myself get played.

Dean, on the other hand… He'd always been ultra-suspicious when it came to my safety, but other than that, he trusted easily.

And Dean didn't deal with guilt well.

"Maybe," he said. "Anyway… Lucifer got out. And since then we've been looking for a way to stop him. The angels keep saying there needs to be a showdown – I'm supposed to be Michael's vessel and Dave is supposed to be Lucifer's. We've been saying no – apparently they need our consent – but, God, Sammy, we can't keep it up forever. We're going to break eventually."

I stayed quiet. What was I going to say? That Dave had to say yes and then walk Lucifer into his Cage? I could see that going down well.

Besides… It was still my responsibility. I didn't believe in Destiny any more than Dean did, but I knew that if there was anyone who should've had to sacrifice himself for the world to have peace, it wasn't Dave. From the look of it, Dave hadn't left a trail of death and devastation behind him whenever he'd dared to get close to someone. He'd just been… unlucky.

I reminded myself that this wasn't real, that it was another of Gabriel's games. The rules were always the same: we had to survive. And since Dean remembered nothing, it was my job to get us both out in one piece.

"So… Sammy?" Dean asked, cutting into my thoughts. "Do you know how we can stop this?"

I hesitated. Not telling Dean was one thing. I wasn't going to lie to him. Not about this, not anymore. Maybe, I typed at last. I need some time to think about it.

Dean's next question was even harder to answer. "Do you remember me at all, Sam?"

I didn't remember the Dean from this dimension. How the hell could I? I'd died at six months. And I still didn't want to lie, but I didn't want to hurt Dean, either. I'd done enough of that in our world.

Yeah, I said at last. It was the truth… Sort of. I did remember Dean. Just not this Dean.

"Was I a good brother?"

That one was easy. Best big brother ever.

"Oh… thanks." He paused. "Sammy, I don't get it. I don't remember you – and, fine, I should, but even then – I was four when you died. I don't get how I feel like… this."

Like what?

"Like… You know what? Never mind." Dean ducked his head. "It's stupid. I'm stupid. I'm like some hormonal emo teenage girl."

I couldn't resist. Awww… Did Deanie forget his Midol?

"Shut up!" Dean said, but he was laughing.

"Dude, what's so funny? And who are you talking to?"

I hadn't heard Dave come in.

For a second – just for a second – I expected that Dean would tell Dave I was around and able to communicate. He'd never been one to hold in his excitement, and I'd lost count of how many times I'd stepped into a motel room to have Dean announce with almost childlike glee that Godzilla was on TV or he'd got the cute bartender's number or some random stranger had complimented the Impala.

Dean blushed and shut the laptop.

"Nothing, man. I was just chatting with Carmen."

What the hell? Was Dean ashamed of talking to me? Or was he just doing it out of some wrongheaded sense of obligation?

"Yeah?" Dave's eyes glinted; he'd noticed nothing unusual about Dean's demeanour. "You planning to meet up with her sometime soon? You could always take a day off, you know… Recharge."

"Maybe later." Dean grinned at him. "So what'd you turn up? And why aren't you with Gwen?"

"She almost bit my head off when I offered to help her. Thought I was insulting her hunting ability. Anyway, she did talk."

"What'd she say?"

"You know that accident when Mom's parents were killed?"

"Yeah – that was before even I was born."

"Yup. 1973. Anyway, Gwen says it wasn't exactly an accident. She wouldn't tell me any details – but from what she's heard, whatever happened, Dad was in it, too."

"How does she know?"

"She wouldn't say. Maybe Christian told her. He seems to know everything."

"Maybe," Dean agreed. "So…?"

"So, Gwen says a lot of them – a lot of the Campbells – suspect that Dad died and Mom made a deal to bring him back."

"Mom made a – no." Dean looked aghast. "You think Mom gave Sammy up for Dad? No way. She – she would never have done that. She couldn't have. She wouldn't have given up her own son."

"That's what I said, but then Gwen told me the date of the accident. November 2, 1973. It can't be a coincidence, Dean."

This was exactly the kind of pain I'd hoped to avoid giving Dean. He was sitting up straight, staring at Dave with a mixture of shock and horror.

I was cursed. That was the only way to explain it. That was the only way to explain why my brother, who'd been living a perfectly normal and happy life – or as close to it as he could get – for years was suddenly having the rug yanked out from under him just because I showed up. I was cursed, everyone around me was doomed, and I needed to find a way to get away from Dean before I ruined his life. Again.

I shook myself. This was not the time for self-pity. I'd managed to get by three years without moping over the fact that Mom practically gave me to Azazel, and I wasn't going to start now.

"We need to talk to Mom," Dave was saying. "Maybe – maybe it was a trick. There has to be an explanation, Dean."

"Yeah…" Dean said. "Yeah… We should talk to Mom."

So that's the how and why of the Apocalypse.

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