Sam tried his best to fall asleep, but it wasn't working. It just wasn't the same without Dean there. He was used to dirty motels, but without Dean's soft snoring, it just didn't feel like home. But he'd put himself into this exile. He drank the demon blood. He trusted a demon. He killed Lilith. He let Lucifer out of the box. Sam knew he couldn't be trusted, shouldn't be trusted. He broke the damn planet. He needed to be benched and he knew it. But that didn't help him sleep any easier.

Sam turned over, trying to find a comfortable position when he realized he wasn't alone in bed.

Jess.

Sam propped himself up quickly in shock.

"Hey, baby," Jess said with a gentle smile.

Sam didn't know what to say.

"I missed you," she said.

Shock rattled around in Sam's sleep-deprived brain as he said, "Jessica?"

He must've fallen asleep at some point, because there was no way that-

"I'm dreaming," Sam said, realization setting in.

"Or you're not," Jess said, "What's the difference? I'm here."

Sam's heart pounded heavily. The only form of comfort he'd had was the demon that broke his heart and stabbed him in the back. There was also the Trickster, but after what he'd said to him in the panic room, Sam didn't think the Trickster would want anything more to do with him. Having Jess there was more of a comfort than he deserved, and he felt starved for it.

"I miss you so much," Sam said, emotion pouring from his words.

Jess said, "I know. I miss you, too." She reached forward and held Sam's hand. It felt like someone had finally let the air back in the room.

"What are you doing, Sam?" Jess asked.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. It seemed to him that he was holding his dead girlfriend's hand and feeling better than he had in months.

"Running away. Haven't we been down this road before?" she asked.

Sam said quickly, "No. It's different now."

"Really?" Jess asked.

"Last time, I wanted to be normal," Sam said, "This time...I know I'm a freak." It hurt to say these words to Jess, but the pain didn't make them any less true. He'd thought he'd hated himself when Jess died; he hadn't known the meaning of the word 'self-loathing' until now.

"Which is all a big ball of semantics. You know that," Jess said.

"No," Sam said.

"Even at Stanford, you knew," Jess pressed, "You knew there was something dark inside of you. Deep down, maybe, but you knew. Baby, that's what got me killed."

Sam looked up at her, sadness and guilt and shame worming their way through his brain. "No," he said.

"I was dead from the moment we said hello," she said.

He knew he was dreaming, he knew this was just his subconscious beating him up, but hearing Jess say that just ripped into him further, deeper, than anything else. "No," he said again.

"Don't you get it?" Jess asked, "You can't run from yourself. Why are you running now?"

Sam couldn't take much more of this. "Why are you here, Jess?" he asked.

"Would you believe I'm actually trying to protect you?" she asked.

"From what?"

"You."

Sam swallowed, staring at Jess with fear and vulnerable pain.

"Sooner or later, the past is gonna catch up to you like it always does," she said, "You know what happens then? People die."

Sam tried to steel himself against those words, but it felt like a slap in the face. A very viscerally true slap in the face.

"Baby, the people closest to you die," Jess said.

Jess. Dad. Ruby. Dean several times. Hell, it was only a matter of time before the Trickster died because of him, too. This is why he'd chosen his exile. He wasn't running from anything, he was keeping everyone he had left safe from him.

Still, Sam went on the defense. "Well, don't worry, because I won't make that mistake again," he said.

"Same song, different verse," Jess said softly, "Things are never gonna change with you. Never."

Sam struggled not to cry in front of Jessica, but as the first tear escaped his eye, she disappeared.

Sam woke up with a start. He needed a drink. Or ten. But no Impala meant he had to walk. And walking at night to a bar in an unfamiliar town wasn't exactly the brightest idea.

And yet, that's still what Sam did. He managed to get lost before he found the bar, but the night air still helped him clear his head and take the edge off the wounds Jess' words had inflicted. So, he kept walking.

When it got light out, Sam finally broke down and called a cab back to the motel. The driver was nice, and the ride was smooth, but the driver wasn't Dean, and the car wasn't the Impala. It stung, but it was for the best. Sam grabbed his bag out of the trunk and walked back to his motel room.

This exile had to be permanent. He had to be done with hunting. For everyone else's sake, he had to be.

Sam pulled his tin of fake IDs out of his bag and tossed the IDs in the motel sink. Pouring lighter fluid on them, he hoped that Dean missed him. He hoped the Trickster had forgiven him. But he couldn't bring himself to confirm either of these as true. Sam lit a match and set the fake IDs ablaze. He wouldn't need them anymore. He was done. It was over.

Later that day, he did manage to find the nearest bar. Hoyt's bar was only a few blocks from the motel...just in the direction that Sam hadn't wandered in the night before. Instead of getting drunk, Sam asked for a job. He needed to start over, make himself a clean slate. An honest job was the first step. Luckily, they needed a busboy. That was something Sam was more than willing to help with. His new boss gave him a rag and a wash bin, and Sam got to work, glad to disappear into the everyday mundane.

Over the next few days, he wiped counters, sliced lemons for the drinks, collected empty glasses, and put all of his energy into doing his job well so he could stop thinking about everything he'd willingly left behind. A waitress he worked with seemed very interested by him, but Sam couldn't think about that. His exile was all about not having attachments. All he wanted to focus on was living simply and quietly and not causing any more damage to anyone else.

Everyday, he'd go to work, wipe down the bar, and keep his head down. Every night, he'd go back to the motel and dream of Jess, where his subconscious would beat him bloody over the fact that he was hiding. Honestly, he wished the Trickster would come and stop these dreams, pop into his head and save him from himself. But he never did. Honestly, if the Trickster wanted anything to do with Sam, he would've shown up by then. But he didn't. And Sam could take a hint. It was better for the both of them anyway.

"Hey, Keith," the waitress said one night, calling him by his alias, "Do you play?" She threw another dart at the dart board, trying to get Sam interested.

"That depends," he said, "What are we playing for?"

"World peace," she said.

Sam pretended that didn't sting and replied like a normal, everyday, didn't-start-the-damn-apocalypse person would reply. "Oh, is that all?" he asked.

"Can I ask you something?" she asked.

"Shoot," he said.

"You finish that, uh, crossword puzzle in the kitchen?" she asked.

Sam was a little confused. Did she want to finish the puzzle? "Uh, I-I guess," he said, "Why?"

"The New York Times Saturday crossword?" she pressed.

"Was it?" he asked.

"Uh huh," she said, "You blow into town last week. You don't talk to anybody. You're obviously highly educated. You're like this-"

"Riddle wrapped inside an enigma wrapped inside a taco?" Sam supplied, trying to be a smart ass.

The waitress grinned. "Here's what we play for," she said, turning back to the dart board, "When I win, you buy me dinner and tell me your life story."

"Sounds fair," Sam said. He stepped towards the dart board. Without hesitation, he landed bulls-eye after bulls-eye like he'd known he would.

"Very misterioso," the waitress said, looking from the dart board to Sam.

The TV playing above the bar grabbed Sam's attention as the announcer said, "Freak hail, lightning strikes, now fire consuming the town of Hawley tonight, John."

The waitress said something, but Sam didn't pay attention. He knew those weird weather patterns were signs of something serious brewing.

"Locals say what started as a torrential hailstorm late this afternoon suddenly turned to massive lightning strikes that triggered the fire now consuming more than 20 acres here along the Route 17 corridor."

Sam stared at the television. This was his fault. Oh, God, this was all his fault.

"County officials are advising all Hawley residents to prepare for what could become mandatory evacuations."

The bar owner shut off the TV and said, "Damn. Is it me, or does it seem like the end of the world?"

Sam kept his comments to himself. Instead, he tried to get back to work without punching something or wanting to kill himself. This was his fault. He had ended the goddamn world.

When he got back to the motel, he started researching. It felt good, like he was doing what he was supposed to do. A few dead ends, but he finally found something. Sam pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts until he found Dean. But he couldn't call his brother. Dean was better off without him. But someone needed to investigate this weather crap, and it couldn't be him. Sam called Bobby.

"Sam?" Bobby answered the phone gruffly.

Sam said, "Hey, Bobby, how you doing?"

"Well, I ain't runnin' any marathons, but I'll live," Bobby said.

Sam chuckled slightly, relieved that Bobby was doing better with the whole being stuck in a wheelchair thing.

"Where are you?" Bobby asked.

"Uh, Garber, Oklahoma," Sam said, "I found a town up the road showing some Revelation omens."

"What omens?" Bobby asked.

"Alright, listen to this, 'and upon his rising, there shall be hail and fire mixed with blood.'"

"Well, ain't that delightful."

"Yeah," Sam said, "We already got hailstorms and fires. I'm guessing blood can't be too far behind."

"Okay," Bobby said flatly.

Sam asked, "What?"

"There a reason you're calling?" Bobby asked.

Sam paused for a moment. He'd figured Bobby would understand. "Dean didn't tell you?" he asked cautiously.

"He told me," Bobby said.

"Yeah, so I just thought, you might want to find out who's in the area, put a man on this," Sam said.

"Okay, let me think of the best hunter who might be in the immediate vicinity. Oh-that'd be you," Bobby said.

Sam sighed at Bobby's sass. "I can't, Bobby," he said, "I'm sitting this one out."

"Sam-" Bobby started.

"I gotta go," Sam said quickly, "I'm so sorry."

"Hold on, Sam-"

Sam hung up the phone and tried not to feel awful. He wanted to clean up his mess. He desperately wanted to help. But he knew without a doubt that if he got involved, he'd just make everything worse.

Sam glanced around the motel room, but he was still alone. Usually, when his thoughts got a little more self-deprecating than usual, the Trickster would show up and talk him into a better mind set. He guessed he shouldn't be surprised that his friend had been AWOL since the incident in the panic room. And it wasn't like he didn't deserve every ounce of pain his brain could throw at him. But Sam missed his friend. He thought about calling for him, but he didn't. He deserved this.

The next day at work, Sam was busy cleaning up around the bar when Tim and his fellow hunters walked in.

"Hey, Sam," Tim called.

Sam tried to ignore him, but Tim called him again. "Sam!"

The waitress asked, "'Sam'? What happened to 'Keith'?"

Sam turned around and asked, "W-What?"

"He called you Sam," she said.

"Yeah, uh, Sam's my middle name," he said, try desperately to maintain his cover.

"Keith Sam?" she asked, "Man, I'm sorry."

"Well, actually, it's, uh, Samuel," Tim said, "So it's not quite as dumb as it sounds."

Sam scoffed with mock offense.

"Are you guys friends?" the waitress asked.

"Huntin' buddies with his dad," Steve said, "But Samuel here is quite the hunter himself."

Sam really wished he hadn't said that.

"Wow," the waitress said, "You kill deer and things?"

"Yeah, 'and things'" Tim said with a grin.

"Uh, why don't I get you guys some drinks?" Sam asked. He was desperate to end this conversation and get his old life away from his new one.

Sitting down with the hunters and a few beers, Sam felt a tad less nervous about the waitress learning more than she should about him.

Tim said, "Sorry, didn't mean to bust you back there."

"No, it, uh, it's all right," Sam said, making sure Lindsey, the waitress, wasn't within ear shot, "So, what's up?"

"Well, Bobby called," Tim said.

"And?" Sam asked.

"You were right," Tim said, "Major demon block party goin' on."

"But why?" Sam asked, "What are they up to?"

"Don't know yet," Steve said.

"Bobby told us you were off limits," Reggie said, "That true?"

"Yeah, that's right," Sam said. He hoped they would just let it lie and accept his decision to stay out of it.

"Well, that's fine in theory and all, but we could really use all hands on deck here," Tim said.

"I know you could," Sam said. He really didn't want to tell them the truth. They would never forgive him. "But I can't," he said, "I'm sorry."

Steve pressed, "Why not?"

"It's personal," Sam said, hoping that they'd just let him be.

"Look, Sam, no offense," Tim said, "But, uh, what baggage is so heavy, it can't be stowed away for the freakin' apocalypse, huh?"

"Like I said-" Sam started.

"Yeah," Reggie said, "You're sorry. Heard you the first time."

Tim looked at Sam and said, "Okay. Suit yourself." He started to get up and added, "More for us, then, right?"

"Good luck," Sam said.

Before they left, Tim turned and said, "Hey, hey. Beers are on you when we get back."

"Yeah, you bet," Sam said. The least he could do is get them some beers for not being able to help them.

Sam watched them leave as the waitress came up beside him and said, "So, your parents were drunk when they named you, and you shoot Bambi?"

"It-it's a long story," Sam said. After seeing those guys, he really wasn't up to the third degree from Lindsey today.

"That is it," she said, "Enough with the kung-fu wandering the earth thing. I'm gonna buy you dinner, and we're gonna talk."

"Lindsey, I can't."

"No. The only way to avoid bloodshed is to say yes."

Sam wanted to tell her how wrong she was. Jess was right. People who got close to him died.

But he saw that she wasn't going to give up on talking to him. So, reluctantly he nodded.

That night after their shifts were over, Lindsey took Sam to a diner down the street. The food was decent, but Sam didn't have much of an appetite.

"So, you gonna tell me who those guys back there really were? And don't say 'hunting buddies,'" Lindsey said.

Sam gave a small chuckle, trying to craft his lies as well as he could. "Okay, umm, we used to be in the same business together," he said. Half truths were easier to keep up than full lies.

But that wasn't enough for the waitress. "What business?" she asked.

Sam looked at Lindsey. She had to be kidding. "How's your salad?" he asked, changing the subject.

Lindsey smiled a little and said, "Witness protection, right? You're mafia?"

"I'm not mafia," Sam said, amused. She wouldn't be able to guess it right in a thousand years.

"Okay. I get it. I don't mean to pry. My bad," she said.

As she slipped into irritated silence, Sam decided to give her a little bit of info, at least enough to make her feel like she learned something. "I used to be in business with my brother," he said, "Truth is, I was pretty good at the job. But I made some mistakes. You know, I-I did some stuff I'm not so proud of. And people got hurt. A lot of people."

Sam tried not to dwell on the fact that everyone who had died so far as a result of Lucifer's rising were all his fault. Their blood was on his hands. And there wasn't any way he'd ever be able to get clean from that.

"What was your poison?" Lindsey asked.

"Sorry?" he asked, looking up at her.

"Come on. You were hooked on something, I know the look," she said.

Sam didn't know what to say. It wasn't like he could say 'demon blood' like she'd just accept that and not question his sanity.

Lindsey took a deep breath and pulled a sobriety chip out of her pocket. "Three years sober," she said.

"You work in a bar."

"So do you."

Sam chuckled a little under his breath.

"Look, 'Keith', I don't know you, and I'm the last person to be giving advice," Lindsey said, "But I do know that no one has ever done anything so bad they can't be forgiven. That they can't change."

Sam looked up at her. He wasn't so sure about that. He did appreciate her kindness, though didn't deserve it.

"Thanks," he muttered.

After that, Lindsey allowed them to slip into innocent small talk, and the rest of dinner passed by smoothly.

The next night, however, did not go smoothly at all.

Sam was finishing wiping up some tables after closing the bar when he heard the door open and the bell above it chime.

"Bar's closed," Sam said.

At the sound of heavy breathing, he turned around to see Tim standing in the bar.

"Hey," Sam said.

"Is there something you want to tell me, Sam?" Tim asked.

"What?" Sam said, confused, "No."

"You sure about that?" Tim asked.

"I don't know-jeez," Sam said, seeing all the blood that covered Tim's jacket and face, "Are you okay? Where are Reggie and Steve?"

"Oh, Steve's good. He's, uh...his guts are laying roadside outside the Hawley Five-and-Dime," Tim said.

"I'm sorry," Sam said. And God was he sorry. This was all his fault.

"'Sorry' don't cut it, Sam," Tim said.

Sam asked, "What do you want me to say?"

"The truth," Tim snapped.

Sam stayed silent.

"Okay. Fine. Let me give you some of my own, then," Tim said, "We go into town, we capture ourselves a demon, and we get jumped by ten more. Steve bought it."

"I'm sorry," Sam said again.

"Saying it twice don't make it so, Sam," Tim said, sternly, "But you see, this demon, he, uh, he told us things. Crazy things. Things about you, Sam."

"Demons lie," Sam said, trying as hard as he could not make an enemy of his friend.

"Yeah? I'm gonna ask you one last time. The Truth. Now," Tim snapped.

Reggie shoved he way through the door to the bar holding a struggling Lindsey tightly next to him.

"Lindsey," Sam said, alarmed.

Reggie held a Bowie knife to Lindsey's throat.

"What's going on?" she asked, fear saturating her voice.

Sam stared at Tim angrily. "Let's just take it easy, okay?" he said, "Put the knife down."

Tim looked to Reggie and back to Sam. Reggie slowly approached the bar with Lindsey in tow and placed the knife on the bar.

Once the knife was down and Lindsey was out of immediate danger, Sam said, "It's true. What the demon said, it's all true."

"Keep going," Tim said.

He was already going to have to leave town and ditch his job and start over again all the while knowing that Lindsey thought he was psychotic. Why would Tim make him say the rest?

"Why? You gonna hate me any less?" Sam asked, "Am I gonna hate myself any less? What do you want?"

"I want to hear you say it," Tim said.

Sam looked at Lindsey. He couldn't let her get hurt just because it would kill him a little bit more to say the words out loud.

Sam faced Tim and said, "I did it. I started the apocalypse."

Tim nodded and smiled a dark smile to himself. He pulled a red vial from his jacket.

"What is that?" Sam asked.

Tim said, "What do you think it is? It's go juice, Sammy boy."

"Get that away from me," Sam said.

"Away from you?" Tim asked, "Nah, this is for you. Hell if that demon wasn't as right as rain. Down the hatch, son."

"You're insane," Sam said.

"Look," Tim said, "Here's what's gonna happen. You're gonna drink this, hulk out, and you're gonna kill every last one of those demon scum that killed my best friend. Or she dies."

Reggie handcuffed Lindsey to the bar.

"You wouldn't do that," Sam said.

"It's funny how watching your best friend die changes that," Tim said, "C'mon, you know you want it Sam. Just reach out and take it."

There was a moment, a long moment, where the urge to just drink it nearly overpowered him. But he was stronger than that.

Reggie rushed at Sam, but Sam flipped him on his back on the pool table and punched him. Before he could land another blow, Tim tackled him. Sam threw his elbow into Tim's face, but Reggie jumped on him quickly. Sam considered calling for the Trickster. This two on one thing was really unfair. But Sam had gotten himself into this mess, he'd get himself out.

Reggie put him in a headlock, and Tim forced the demon blood into his mouth.

Sam very nearly swallowed it and hulked out at them. But he didn't.

Reggie and Tim released him, and Sam slowly stood up.

"There, was that really so bad?" Tim asked.

Sam spat the blood out into Tim's face. He blocked a punch from Reggie and landed his knee in Reggie's side. Tim ran at him, and Sam slugged him across the face, knocking him out. Reggie started to get up, but Sam kicked him down again.

Sam picked Tim up by his jacket and slammed him into the bar, making Lindsey gasp. He grabbed the Bowie knife and held it to Tim's throat.

But he stopped. He saw Lindsey staring at him in fear. Like he was a monster.

Slowly, Sam let Tim up and shoved him across the room towards Reggie.

"Go," Sam said, pointing to the door.

"Don't think we won't be back," Reggie said with a snarl.

"Don't think I won't be here," Sam said angrily.

The hunters left the bar, and Sam looked at Lindsey. He could only imagine what she saw when she looked at him. He could feel the blood smeared across his face. He was a monster. He was the reason Dean was now hunting without him. He was the reason the Trickster was done with him. And he deserved what he had wrought.

Sam slowly approached Lindsey with his hands up and picked the lock on the handcuffs. Once free, she backed up a few spaces, staring at Sam with wide, scared eyes.

"I'll leave town first thing in the morning," he said, "If they do come back, call me. I'll leave my number in the kitchen, okay?"

Lindsey nodded quickly and bolted out the door.

Sam had the overwhelming urge to sit on the floor and cry, but now wasn't the time to feel sorry for himself. He staggered over to the kitchen and wrote his number down on the whiteboard on the wall before making his way back to the motel.

That night, he fell asleep quickly only to be woken moments later by Jess saying, "Sam?"

When he turned over, she was there in bed next to him. He leaned over and kissed her cheek.

Jess turned to face him and asked, "So, this is your life now? You think you can just live forever with your head buried in the sand?"

She ran her fingers through his hair soothingly.

Sam sighed, "I love you, Jess." He sat up and turned away from her. He said, "God knows how much I miss you, too, but you're wrong. People can change. There is reason for hope."

Jess brushed his hair back and said softly, "No, Sam, there isn't."

"How can you be so sure?" Sam asked.

"Because you freed me," came a man's voice.

Sam looked behind him to see a man in sandy blonde hair and a green flannel shirt sitting where only moments ago Jess had been. He stood up quickly, the man's hand falling from Sam's shoulder.

"That's right," the man said, "You know who I am."

And he was right. Sam did know.

"Lucifer," Sam said.

"You are a hard one to find, Sam," Lucifer said, "Harder than most humans. I don't supposed you'd tell me where you are?"

"What do you want with me?" Sam asked.

"Thanks to you, I walk the earth," Lucifer said, "I want to give you a gift. I want to give you everything."

"I don't want anything from you," Sam snapped.

Lucifer looked up at Sam sadly. He said, "I'm so sorry, Sam. I-I really am, but Nick here is just an improvisation. Plan 'B.' He can barely contain me without spontaneously combusting."

"What are you talking about?" Sam asked.

Lucifer stood from the bed and said, "Why do you think you were in that chapel?"

Sam took a step back, wanting as much space between him and the Devil as he could possibly get.

"You're the one, Sam," Lucifer said softly, "You're my vessel, my true vessel."

"No," Sam said, nearly whispering.

"Yes," Lucifer said, nodding.

"No," Sam said again, "That'll never happen."

"I'm sorry, but it will," Lucifer said, "I will find you, and when I do, you will let me in. I'm sure of it."

Sam said, "You need my consent."

"Of course, I'm an angel," Lucifer said, like it was obvious.

Sam laughed a small laugh realizing that he had a choice. "I will kill myself before letting you in," he said.

Lucifer rolled his eye and said, "And I'll just bring you back."

Sam stared at the Devil while horror crept up his spine.

"Sam, my heart breaks for you. The weight on shoulders. What you've done, what you still have to do. It is more than anyone could bear. If there was some other way..." Lucifer said, "But there isn't. I will never lie to you. I will never trick you. But you will say yes to me."

"You're wrong," Sam said.

"I'm not," Lucifer insisted, "I think I know you better than you know yourself."

And just when Sam thought he couldn't hate himself anymore.

"Why me?" Sam asked.

"Because it had to be you, Sam," Lucifer said, "It always had to be you."

Sam dropped his head, trying not to cry in front of Satan himself. When he looked up, he was alone in the room.

He knew what he had to do.

Sam woke up and instantly reached for his phone on the nightstand. He scrolled through his contacts and called Dean.

"Hey, you've reached Dean. Leave your name, number, and nightmare at the tone."

Shit.

Sam got up out of bed. He needed help. He needed to warn Dean.

"Trickster," Sam said out loud, "Trickster, I need your help. Please, if you can hear me, I-

The Trickster appeared before Sam and said, "We need to go right now."

"What? I-"

The Trickster put a hand on Sam's shoulder, and, suddenly, they were on a cloudy shoreline.

Before Sam could say anything, the Trickster pulled Sam into a tight hug and said, "Thank you. Thank you for calling me. I was so worried."

"You were worried?" Sam asked, pulling away from the Trickster slightly.

"Yes, damn it, I was worried. First, Lucifer's out of the box, then I can't find you anywhere. How the hell are you doing that, by the way?"

"Cas put some sort of spell on our ribs. Dean and I both are shielded or something like that, but I thought that was only supposed to work on angels," Sam said.

The Trickster sighed and said, "Castiel probably fucked it up and gave me a damn heart attack. Okay, I'll have to get used to that. Whatever. I'm just so glad you're okay, kiddo."

Sam asked, "So, you're not mad at me?"

"Why would I be mad at you?" the Trickster asked, perplexed.

Sam gave him a self-deprecating smile and said, "Why wouldn't you be? I said some really stupid shit to you in the panic room, I didn't listen about Ruby, I released Lucifer while you and Dean and Bobby and everyone were telling me not to."

The Trickster smiled and said, "You didn't know what would happen. You didn't realize we were trying to help. Should you have not trusted a demon so much? Probably. But this isn't your fault. You didn't know."

Sam felt tears spring to his eyes as he hugged his friend. "God, I missed you," he said.

The Trickster returned the hug and said, "Right back at ya, kiddo."

When Sam pulled away, he asked, "So, uh, why are we here? Why did we need to leave so fast?"

The Trickster's expression hardened a little. "You know how I said calling me is like praying? Well, it's a lot like praying, and Lucifer will have heard it. Can't have ol' Luci finding you now, can we? So, I zapped us here. To a beach. A beach so nondescript that it looks like all the other beaches. He won't be able to find you so easy. Not on my watch," he said.

Sam's chest tightened at the thought of Lucifer finding him. "Lucifer was in my dream," he said, "He said I was his true vessel. And if Dean is Michael's vessel, then we-God, I can't-"

The Trickster held his hands gently and pressed his forehead to Sam's. He said, "I'm so, so sorry, kiddo."