A/N: Apologies for the long wait, i've been swamped with uni work and handed in my dissertation today! Next update should be sooner, and likely the final chapter. Thank you for waiting patiently, and for reading, of course ^_^


Wherever it was Lucifer stood- raging and burning with angelic fury- Death returned him there, and with a heavy heart, Sam slowly made his way over to the archangel.

Lucifer instantly rushed toward him upon seeing him, a great, moving mass of light that soon wrapped around him, embracing him as if he truly intended to hold him forever and never let go.

Sam sighed, eyes slipping shut in contention, basking in these last moments where he felt whole. He didn't know how long it would be until he felt like this again. For now, Lucifer's presence wove into every part of him, filling him, lighting him up and making him feel like he was floating, like he was free.

"Why are you crying, Sam?" Lucifer asked.

Sam sighed, shuddering, curling closer to him. "How do you know I'm crying? I'm just a soul."

"I always know, Sam," Lucifer whispered.

Yeah, Sam thought mildly, a shaky, sad smile touch his lips. You do.You always know.

He knew it would be no good to drag this out. It would only make it harder to leave. So taking a deep breath, not that it helped, Sam looked into Lucifer's true face, and forced out of his mouth possibly the hardest words he'd ever had to say.

"I have to go."

He felt Lucifer's despair crash down around him, like dark clouds rolling overhead. It was a sudden icy chill, a stab in the chest, his heart breaking. "No," the archangel whispered, voice full of pure, heartbreaking melancholy. "Sam, no."

"I'm sorry," Sam mumbled, feeling Lucifer shift into Nick's form in his arms. He wasn't sure why, maybe he'd willed it to happen, but it felt right as he gently rested their foreheads together. "It's not for good," he said. "I promise. I'll come back."

"You don't have to leave," Lucifer growled, voice tinged with angelic fury. Angry, but not at him, at the rest of the world, at this system of misfortune where the two of them always seemed to end up the sacrifice, the martyr, the fallen. "Stay."

Face scrunching up to stop himself from crying, Sam shook his head, reaching up and taking Lucifer's face in his hands, holding them close together. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, but I can't... Dean... I'm causing harm up there... Dean needs me..."

"No!" Lucifer snapped, fury growing. "You don't need him, Sam. You need me. I can give you anything, Sam. Anything you want."

Sam smiled, despite everything. I want you. But he couldn't have what he wanted, that was the whole point. And he understood Lucifer in perhaps a way that no one else did. He knew what Lucifer wanted, too. He got the message, what Lucifer was trying to say, that he needed Sam, too.

It just made this all the harder.

"Lucifer..." The word fell from his lips with all the reverence and hope he'd once put into his heavenly prayers, back when he'd been so ignorant of it all. He'd hoped and believed in angels, and in many ways they'd disappointed him, but maybe that didn't matter. Maybe you didn't have to believe in Heaven, or pure goodness, or angels, maybe you just had to believe in one. And he'd found his. "I love you. I love you in the way I always wished I could love myself." He leant back slightly, just enough to see the archangel's face, cheeks streaked with tears, eyes glistening, a shaky, broken smile on his face. "You waited for me," he whispered. "You waited for me for so, so long. I just need you to wait a little bit longer."

"No, Sam. Please." Lucifer grasped both his hands, holding tight, tears lining his own lashes in the most desperate, open display of emotion Sam had ever seen from him. "You don't know what it's like here without you. It's Hell without you. Real Hell."

Sam squeezed his eyes shut, unable to bear the look on Lucifer's face. "I'm sorry. I really, really am sorry. But it won't be forever." He gently wiped Lucifer's tears away, unable to take the sight of them. "Just for now, I have to help, Dean. Help everyone."

Lucifer's teeth gritted, he pulled back slightly, furious. "And what about me, Sam? They're all more important to you than me?"

"No," Sam said firmly. "But everything's all wrong. I... I just can't leave it like that."

"Forget Dean," Lucifer snapped.

Sam sighed, feeling a tear roll down his cheek, stopping as it touched his lips, salty and bitter. "Did you ever forget Michael?" he asked.

Lucifer paused. For several long moments, he just stared at Sam. Eventually, his shoulders sagged, head ducking down as if he couldn't bear to look at Sam anymore. "You are the only consolation I've had, Sam. For so, so long. No matter what else, I always had you."

"You still do," Sam said, stepping closer to him. "You always will. And I'll be back soon, I promise. When I die, we'll finally be together properly."

"Or I can come up there and destroy the planet and take you back," Lucifer snarled.

Sam sighed, reaching out and gently brushing his fingertips down the side of Lucifer's face in a soothing gesture. "Don't do that," he said softly. "You and me, we're... tainted. Exiled, not a part of our own kinds anymore. Maybe we should be locked away down here, I don't know. But whatever we do, whatever we deserve, it'll be together."

"I fell for you, Sam," Lucifer whispered, gently catching Sam's hand by the wrist and holding it against his face, seemingly just for the sake of contact. "I fell because I knew you would, too. For a long time, I was falling alone, until finally, you came, and you..."

"Jumped and fell with you," Sam filled in with an affectionate smile. "Then we jumped down here, too. Maybe you and I are always falling." He pulled Lucifer closer, moving so their faces were barely an inch apart, he met the archangel's gaze full on. There were whole universes hidden in those eyes. "I'll come back," he said. "I promise. I can always find my way back to you." Shaky as it was, his smile widened. "All I have to do is fall."

Lucifer pulled him in, kissed him, deep and long and passionate. Light exploded, enveloping Sam's senses, Lucifer's true form holding him and embracing him, and kissing him until Sam felt breathless though he had no lungs to breathe.

The moment it ended, when he forced himself to pull back, Sam knew if he didn't do it then, he wouldn't be able to bear to do it at all.

"Okay," he said, speaking the empty air, though he knew Death would be hovering near. Wasn't it always? "Take me. I'll go."

Darkness descended. The kind of darkness you see behind your eyes only when there is no light. The kind of darkness you see in death. Sam could feel something pulling him, carrying him, dragging him away as if down a dark tunnel. He knew he was crying, shaking, reaching out for something he could no longer see. The world- the horrid real world- echoed, sounds and sensations blurring and merging, invading him with its horrible physicality. There was a movement that felt simultaneously like he was being pulled apart and stuffed back together. Sam screamed. And somewhere, in another dimension, with a voice that would have shaken the whole earth, someone else was screaming, too.

We he took his first breath back on earth, it seemed it was both their voices crying out through his mouth.


For a long time, he sleeps. There's dreams, all blending into each other. Dreams of pure white light, of stars, of other worlds. He sees himself walking streets he's sure no human has ever tread, but there's always something missing. It's like there's a space beside him that he can't quite make himself look at to see, a hint of movement in his peripheral vision. It's like a hole ripped out of the picture, scribbled over, covered up.

When he finally wakes, he's staring up at the ceiling in the panic room.

What day it is, how he got there, even what year it is, he couldn't have said. Of two things he was sure: something major had happened, and there was something important missing.


Sam had seldom felt such joy as when he learnt Dean and Bobby were safe, that Cas was alive. For a few blissful minutes, everything seemed like it had maybe worked out all alright.

And then Dean asked what he remembered.

He made an honest attempt to try and think, but there was just... nothing. It was like his head was filled with static.

"What's the last thing you remember?" Dean pressed.

Sam shrugged. "The field," he said, referring to Stull cemetery. He paused. "And then I fell."

Fell.

Something about that word struck him. Some significance he swore he was missing. He could remember falling, the rush of air, the jolt in his stomach, the fear as he plummeted uncontrollably downwards.

"And then what?" Dean asked.

Nothing. He didn't even remember hitting the ground.


Obviously, he thought about Lucifer. It was only natural. It had all been because of Lucifer, this whole crazy hell trip and everything else that had happened.

Lucifer. Even now, he felt no malice toward him. He didn't know what he felt. He'd never felt as he should in regards to Lucifer. Hating the devil should have been easy, and yet Sam had always found it inexplicably hard. Then again, for most people, the devil doesn't show up and promise them the world, doesn't treat them with the most respect anyone ever had, doesn't... complete them, at least for that short, perfect time he almost couldn't bear to think about when they'd been one being. Shamefully, he found himself thinking back to that time far too often, and with far more longing than he should have. Knowing there had been a break between him being Lucifer's vessel and seeing Dean again, was actually something of a relief, even if he couldn't remember it. He could remember the guilt he'd felt, the shame at how much he'd enjoyed being one with the devil. Dean had asked him a little about the experience, but he'd purposefully given vague answers.

Just sometimes, he wondered what Lucifer was doing now. What had Lucifer done while he was in Hell? Sam wasn't keen to remember torture and hell fire, but there was a natural rising curiosity of what had happened between him and the cage's other inmates. What about Michael? And Adam. He knew both he and Dean worried over whether Adam was okay.

Currently, Sam was sat up in his room at Bobby's, having been encouraged to rest from both Bobby and his brother. Honestly, he was getting a little sick of the mollycoddling, though he appreciated their concern. It was strange, though, he'd been away for a year, technically, and yet this room seemed so familiar, as if he'd been in and out of it perhaps just days ago like normal. Sam stared up at the ceiling with its general layer of grime, somehow comfortingly familiar, along with the faint smell of whiskey. He'd always felt something close to at home here. Well, as close as he'd ever been with anything in his life. Sam sighed, rolling over to get closer to... What?

Pausing, Sam blinked, attempting to think back on that train of thought, but coming up blank. It was strange. Just for a moment there, it was like he'd expected to find something in the bed with him, something he'd wanted to be close to. What?

Perhaps the dull isolation of lying here doing nothing was getting to him. Sam pushed himself up from his bed and absentmindedly wandered across the room planning to perhaps find a good book to read. He had to do something to stop himself from going completely stir crazy.

He began searching the drawers for the few possessions he kept here, hands brushing over odd pens and other various junk. Neither Winchester had many possessions outside of clothes, basic necessities, and weaponry, and what Sam did own he had picked up either in cheap second hand stores, or been given from Dean or Bobby, or occasionally acquired back at Stanford. His fingers brushed something small and rectangular; not recognising the item immediately, Sam pulled it out with a curious frown.

It was a deck of cards. Nothing special. One of the past times they sometimes engaged in when they had spare moments between hunts. Sam turned the deck over in his hands, pushing back the flimsy cardboard lid and pulling up the first couple of cards. They'd been left in the wrong order. Typical, he must have played with Dean last who never bothered to put things away neatly unless they were in his precious car. When had their last card game been? Had Bobby played, too? No, he only remembered one person. Must have been Dean... No...

The cards fell out of his hand, thumping onto the floor, a couple spilling from the cardboard packaging and sliding a little way out onto the ground. Sam paid them no mind, clutching his head as a series of flashing images assaulted his mind. Chains... Hell fire... A bright light that made his eyes burn despite that he couldn't see it... Oh God, this was agony... He felt fear... Rushing fear, despair, terror, comfort... What?

Sam staggered back, forcing himself to find the bed before he collapsed, hands clutching his temples. It felt like his head was about to split in two. He must have cried out because Dean's footsteps came thundering toward his room.

"Sam? Sam!"

His brother's hands grabbed his shoulders, all but holding him up, Dean's concerned face frowning anxiously down at him, eyes shining with worry. For the briefest moment, he swore those eyes were blue.

"I'm okay," he ground out.

"Sam..." Dean looked panicked. "Don't scratch, dammnit! Don't think about it! You can't think about it! There's nothing worth remembering about that place."

Nothing? No. There was- "Aaahh!"

"Sam!"

He could feel Dean's hands on him, hauling him back onto the bed, forcing him to lie down. He vaguely felt his head hit the pillow, vision swimming, head pounding. He tried to sit up, reaching out for... for what?

"Sam, lie down, dammnit."

"But..."

"What? Look, Sam, you're in shock or something. Just lie down."

"No. I have to..." Have to what?

Dean was holding his upper arms, pinning him in place until Sam's energy finally gave out and he fell still. He groaned weakly, head lolling to the side as Dean sighed and released him, watching Sam's eyes flutter shut.

"Just get some rest, okay?"

The words sounded jumbled, like his brother was far away, or through a thick fog. In a state of half-consciousness, he could hear Dean's voice. Perhaps further into unconsciousness, he could hear someone else. "Stay," they said.

The door closed as Dean left, but he barely registered the noise. His mind was fuzzy, head swimming, a kind of dizzy feeling like he was standing on the edge before a deep, deep drop.

"I can't..." Sam whispered, speaking the words to the empty room and to something not there. "I'm sorry."

"Stay." The voice came again, firmer, harsher. There was anger with it. Someone was angry at him, weren't they? He had left. Of course they were angry. Must be. Stupid, worthless person like him, he'd messed up again. He deserved this anger, this punishment.

"I'm sorry," he said again, the words slurred and half muffled by the pillow. "I'm so sorry, Lucifer."