Thanks so much Ktoon for beta'ing for me and Themegalosaurus for doing the final edits, and thank you VegasGranny and Ncsupnatfan for pre-reading. I really appreciate you giving your time to the story. It's 100x better because of your help.

This chapter is for Luvsbruce. She knows why xxx

Chapter Twelve

Dean took the warded box from the shelf and carried it into the library where Sam and Castiel waited. Castiel was looking around as if searching for something, and Sam was watching him with a quirked brow.

"Tell him it doesn't matter how hard he tries, he's not going to see me," Sam said.

Dean chose not to pass on his words this time. He figured it would upset Castiel to be told, again, that he was never going to see Sam again.

He lined up the combination lock of the briefcase to sixes, popped it open, lifted the horn out with his hand covered by the hem of his sleeve, then stowed it in the warded box and snapped the lid closed.

Castiel examined the Enochian sigils Sam had carved into the box, his eyes concerned as he said, "I won't be able to get to it now."

"Hopefully, neither will Lucifer," Dean said. "We don't want him running off halfcocked with it. We need to play it smart, and that means making him stop and listen."

Castiel looked to his right, in complete opposite direction to where Sam was, and asked, "How does Sam feel about that?"

"I'm fine," Sam said. "I can handle it."

"He's good," Dean lied.

Sam couldn't be fine with it. He'd been scared when he'd seen Lucifer in the church, even though he'd fought it, and that wasn't going away. Dean thought Lucifer would always scare Sam. How could he do anything else after everything he'd put him through?

"Add some demon protection," Sam urged. "We don't want Crowley running off with it."

Dean opened a drawer of the dresser where Sam kept his notepads and stationery and found an indelible marker. He drew on the symbols that would keep demons out of it, too, recalling them easily as he and Sam had spent years trying to keep demons out.

"That's good," Sam said approvingly. "If Crowley manages to find a way in here, he's not getting out with that."

"Do you think he'll try?" Dean asked.

"Try what?" Castiel asked, his eyes roving the room again.

"We were talking about Crowley," Dean explained. "We were just saying if he does come, he won't be able to get the horn."

"I don't think he'll come," Castiel said seriously. "He will want to stay as far away from Lucifer as he can. What Lucifer put him through…"

"It sounded pretty awesome," Dean said.

"For us, perhaps, but for Crowley, it was a new kind of hell. He'll never forget it."

"I can think of a few people that never had a chance to forget after what Crowley did to them," Sam said, his eyes dark. "Like Sarah. He killed her without hesitation when he wanted to pull us off of the trials."

"I know," Dean said gently.

Dean hated that they were working with Crowley on this. He would have liked to kill him for what he had done to them. Though it wasn't all on Crowley, he was the one that had set Dean up with Cain to get the Mark in the first place. He wasn't blaming him for everything he did under its influence, the death and destruction, but he owed him part of the blame for that and all the other lives he'd taken

"What do we do now?" Castiel asked.

Dean raked a hand over his face. "Hope Crowley's vessel plan comes through and that we can find Amara when Lucifer is here. If you're right, Cas, if he's the one that can stop her, we'll find out soon enough."

"And if he's wrong, we're all screwed anyway," Sam said. He shook his head as if shaking away the thought and said, "You need to sleep, Dean."

"I'm fine," Dean said quickly. "Besides, this isn't the time to take a nap. We're waiting on Satan to stop The Darkness."

"And we'll wake you if he comes knocking, but you're fried right now and need rest. I'm here, Cas is here, if anything happens, you'll know straight away."

Dean knew he was right. He was dead on his feet, and now was the time to sleep, while Crowley was working on getting Lucifer a new vessel, but it felt wrong for him to be the only one sleeping in the place. Neither Castiel nor Sam slept, and Dean wasn't sure he wanted to leave them all night, unable to communicate. Castiel had always just lurked around while they were sleeping, watching over them to use his words, but what was Sam supposed to do without constant reminders that Castiel couldn't see him? Even reading a book was going to draw attention to the fact he wasn't really there to Castiel.

"Bed, Dean," Sam said sternly. "I'll come tuck you in."

"The hell you will," Dean said, taking a step away from him and raising his hands, not responding to Castiel's confused enquiries.

Sam's shoulders shook as he laughed. "Fine, you can tuck yourself in, but we are going to talk."

"About?"

"I'll tell you when Cas isn't listening."

Frowning, Dean told Castiel he was going to catch a few hours of sleep and then followed Sam to his bedroom. When he got there, he sat down on the edge of the bed and bent to untie his boots. He stopped with his fingers on the laces and then straightened again. They didn't know when Lucifer was going to arrive, but he figured it was better to be ready for action when he did, instead of meeting Lucifer in his socked feet.

Sam leaned against the desk, looking serious now that his laughter had faded.

"What do you want to talk about?" Dean asked.

He was expecting it to be something about Castiel and Lucifer again, explaining why he hadn't wanted to talk in front of Castiel, but Sam looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you, Dean," seriously.

Dean's brows pulled together in a frown. "For what?"

"For not making a deal with Lucifer for me. For a moment I thought you would, and that scared me. We need him to stop Amara, but any deal he made would have screwed us over in the end. It's better that I stay like this than he get the upper hand on us."

"If I thought it would have worked, I would have made it," Dean said without hesitation.

If Lucifer had been able to save Sam, he would have made that deal in a heartbeat, consequences be damned. It was only the fact he knew no one could bring him back that had stopped him trying.

"It wouldn't have though," Sam said. "We'd have ended up in a bigger mess than we are now."

Dean nodded. "Yeah…" He hadn't told Sam the whole story of his situation, and he realized it was finally time for him to do it. Sam needed to know.

Sam cocked his head. "What aren't you telling me, Dean?

"Vanth told me something," he said. "It wasn't just her that couldn't bring you back properly. Billie and Crowley said it, too. No one has the power apart from Death, and since he's dead…"

He forced himself to look at Sam and then had to swallow down a lump in his throat as he saw his stricken expression.

"No one can," Sam finished for him, his voice a whisper. "That's it. I can't be saved."

"I'm so sorry, Sammy. If I could—"

Sam held a hand, cutting him off. "It's fine. It's not even a surprise, really. If you could have gotten me back properly, you would've already. I know that. It doesn't even matter."

Dean wanted to wipe the horror from Sam's face, but he couldn't find the words. There was no reassurance he could give. Death was dead, and he was the most powerful being they'd ever come into contact with. He was the one that would reap God! There was no one stronger than him that they could call on.

He started to apologize again, but Sam pushed away from the desk and moved toward the door.

"Sleep, Dean," he said. "We don't know when you'll get the chance again."

"Sammy…"

Sam turned back, his hand on the door and said, "It's fine, Dean. It's not Cipencel. It's not The Empty. It's not even the Cage. I'm still here, right? We get to talk and I can do some stuff. Really, it's okay."

Dean knew he was trying to reassure him, but every word Sam said was like a dart against him. He should have told Sam sooner. How long had Sam been telling himself his situation was only temporary? How much had that helped him deal with what had happened, and how long had he been relying on Dean to fix it for him?"

"Stay," Dean said. "Talk to me."

Sam smiled slightly. "You hate talking, Dean. Seriously, go to sleep. I'm going to find a book to read. Maybe screw with Cas by flipping the pages. I'll see you in the morning."

He strode out of the room and closed the door behind him. Dean sat for a moment, wishing he could go after him without making it worse. He had let Sam down all over again by not telling him sooner. Now Sam was dealing with the threat of seeing Lucifer again compounded with the knowledge that there was no magic save for him this time.

There had always been a save. They'd fixed it for each other, him, Sammy and Cas, and they'd come to rely on that. Dean thought he would lose his mind if he was in Sam's position.

All he could comfort himself with was that Sam had always been stronger than him. He hoped that would remain true.

When Dean woke, there was a blissful moment when it was just another day in the bunker, maybe a late start after an early hours' hunt with Sam. He figured he'd wake his brother and then they could get breakfast together before dealing with whatever nightmare dropped in their laps next. He threw back the covers and climbed out of bed and then went to the basin to splash his face with water to remove the last vestiges of sleep. He looked up into the mirror, and that was when he remembered. Though he was feeling good, his eyes told the truth, and the rush of memories came at him like a wave, reminding him that Sam was dead, and that, now, he knew it was for good.

He turned away from his reflection and turned on the faucet to cup the water in his hands. He washed his face and then wiped it with a towel from the dresser beside the basin. Making sure to avoid his reflection, he tossed the towel onto the dresser and left the room.

He planned to find Sam, to talk to him, so he headed through the empty library and war room toward the kitchen. He smelled bacon before he reached it, and he felt a wave of hope. Someone was cooking, and it was either Sam or Castiel. As Castiel had never cooked for him before, he knew it had to be Sam. He had to be doing better if he was cooking, not still bogged down by the knowledge of what had really happened to him—Could it really be that easy?—and Dean hurried his pace, grinning as he imagined how it would look for Castiel to have seen Sam cooking without being able to see the person moving the pans.

He reached the kitchen, and his greeting of, "Hey, Sammy," died on his lips as Sam wasn't there. It was Castiel that was tipping scrambled eggs from a skillet onto a large plate with a look of concentration.

"Hey, Cas," he said, his voice duller than he's intended it to be. He was on the point of asking if Castiel had seen Sam when he realized he couldn't have, never could again even. "What's this?" he asked instead.

"Breakfast," Castiel said. "I thought you would be hungry as you only ate a little of your burrito on the ride home last night."

"That's because it came from a Gas N Sip, and it tasted like it looked."

"I always enjoyed them when I was human."

Dean raised an eyebrow. Maybe it was because he'd had a lifetime of road food before getting a kitchen to cook in for him and Sam, maybe it was just that Castiel's taste buds had been damaged as a former angel, he was no longer satisfied with eating the crap he'd spent his life eating. He wanted real food now.

"This isn't a breakfast burrito," Castiel said proudly. "I made this. Sit down." He placed a plate of bacon in the middle of the table, added the eggs beside it and poured a glass of orange juice then watched Dean as he stood watching him.

What Dean wanted to do was find Sam and talk to him, but he didn't want to upset Castiel either. He knew that Sam would have found him if he was ready to talk, though, and Castiel's sad eyes above his smile told him that he and Sam weren't the only ones struggling. Dean and Sam at least still had each other to remind themselves it wasn't really over. Castiel had lost his friend and he was never going to see him again.

Dean pulled out the chair and sat down. Castiel beamed and handed him a spoon. "Help yourself."

There was far too much food for one person, but Dean made an effort to put a dent in it by piling his plate high before picking up his knife and fork and beginning to eat.

Castiel looked around the room and then asked, "How is Sam today?"

Dean paused with the fork halfway to his mouth and said, "I don't know. I haven't seen him yet."

"I thought he was tethered to you."

"He is, but he seems to have the run of the bunker as long as I'm in it. We've not really experimented with it properly." Dean didn't want to find out exactly how far away from him Sam could go. The point was to have Sam close to him, not apart.

"Where is he then?" Castiel asked.

Dean wished he hadn't asked. It made him feel guilty for not finding him straight away. Sam probably needed space to sort through what he'd heard from Dean and what it meant for him, but he might want to talk. He was the talker, after all. It was Dean that shirked the deep and meaningful chats about their problems.

He put down his fork and said, "I don't know, Cas. We had a talk last night and—" He cut himself off and shook his head. "We just talked. I think he needs some time."

Castiel nodded slowly, his eyes searching Dean's face. "And how are you?"

"I'm fine," Dean said, too quickly for it to be believable.

Castiel frowned. "You can't be fine, Dean, not after what's happened to you."

"It happened to Sammy, not me," Dean said.

"It happened to you both," Castiel corrected. "I won't pretend to understand how you feel, but I know how I feel, and I am not fine."

"It's different for me," Dean said. "I can still see Sam. He's still with me."

"That's such a cliché, Dean," Sam said, striding into the room.

Dean wondered how long he'd been there listening, unnoticed. He hoped he hadn't been there long enough to hear Castiel's declaration that he wasn't fine, as that would twist Sam up even more. Though he looked much better now than he had the last time Dean saw him. He wasn't wearing the face he wore when he was trying to hide how he felt. He just looked…normal.

Dean was relieved that Sam seemed to have processed what had happened and his smile was genuine as he said, "Cas made breakfast."

"Good job, Cas," Sam said.

Dean repeated it for Castiel's benefit, and the angel smiled widely.

Sam boosted himself onto the counter and swung his legs. "Is it good?"

"Yes," Dean said, frowning. "Get down from there. I make our food up there."

Sam raised an eyebrow. "You make your food there, and it's not like I can spread germs. I'm dead, Dean. No germs. I don't even have ectoplasm."

Dean grimaced. "And I'm real grateful about that, but you don't get a pass because you're dead to sit on the counters."

Castiel looked in the direction Dean was facing and said, "It is unsanitary, Sam."

Sam rolled his eyes and slid down. "Better?"

"Much," Dean said, then added, "He's down, Cas."

Castiel looked pleased and Dean began to eat again. Sam leaned against the fridge and watched him. With his scrutiny and Castiel's, he felt self-conscious.

"If you two can find something else to stare at, that'd be great," he said irritably.

Castiel quickly averted his eyes and apologized, and Sam laughed. "Sorry. It's just the little things you miss."

"You miss eating?" Dean asked.

Sam nodded. "And sleeping. And showering. And being able to change my clothes. I don't even like this shirt." He plucked at his front, holding out the blue fabric for Dean to examine.

Cheered that Sam was doing better, even as he was sharing the things he missed, Dean pointed his fork at him and said, "That's because it's ugly."

Castiel was watching him carefully, perhaps trying to make sense of the one-sided conversation, his brow furrowed. Dean was on the point of explaining what they were talking about when his phone rang and he pulled it from his shirt pocket.

"Crowley," he muttered as he checked the caller ID and connected the call, putting it on speaker and setting it down on the table so Sam and Castiel could hear. "Yes?"

"Cheery greetings, Dean," Crowley said. "The weight of insanity getting you down?"

"Do you have something important to tell me or are you just calling to annoy me?"

"I actually do have something to tell you," Crowley said. "I wanted to let you know that Lucifer has his vessel. It took a demon deal from an LSD tripping kid to bring the vessel back to life and some careful planning and a quick escape from yours truly, but he's back and he's going to come looking for the horn. Since he hasn't shown up at my door, I'm assuming he's coming for you."

"Thanks for the heads up," Dean said. "We'll call when he's here."

"Or you could, you know, not. I don't want to end up in a cage again. How about you let me know when The Darkness has been dealt with and we can all have a beer to celebrate."

"Real brave, Crowley," Dean said sarcastically.

"Unless you've actually been bitch-slapped by Satan, you don't get to have a say. Moose would have got it. "

Dean glanced at Sam and saw that his smile had been replaced by a look of fear. He'd know Lucifer was coming to them at some point, it had been his plan ever since he died, but Dean guessed knowing and being faced with it imminently were different. He was scared now.

"I'll call you when we've saved the world, Crowley," he said scathingly, cutting the call and look at Sam. "Sammy…"

Sam shook his head and forced a smile. "I'm good."

"We need to prepare," Castiel said.

"How?" Dean asked. "We're not attacking him. We need him to come."

"I mean prepare for the battle," Castiel explained.

"How?" Sam asked. "It's The Darkness. Nothing we have is going to help apart from the horn, and Lucifer needs to be the one that handles that."

"How?" Dean asked for him.

"We need to track her down," Castiel said. "Lucifer needs to know where to find her."

"How?" Dean asked again.

"I don't know," Castiel admitted.

Sam walked away, and Dean called after him. "Where are you going?"

"For a walk," Sam said without looking back.

Dean scraped back his chair and went after his brother, Castiel following him. He jogged to get ahead of Sam and stopped him with raised hands in the war room. "You shouldn't be out there on your own."

"He can't do anything to me anymore, Dean," Sam said, seeming to be bolstering himself with his words as well as trying to reassure Dean. "He can't even see me anymore."

"You should still stay," Dean said, feeling a deep sense of foreboding that was separate to Lucifer's impending arrival.

"I'll be fine," Sam said.

He walked around Dean and up the stairs to the door. He pulled it open, and Castiel gasped. At first Dean thought it was because he was seeing the physical evidence of Sam's presence for the first time, but then Sam staggered back a step and started for the stairs again.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked him, worried by the look of fear in Sam's face.

His answer didn't come from Sam, though. It came from the archangel that stepped inside and walked stopped just inside, looking over the railing into the war room.

Dean looked up at the familiar face of Lucifer's original vessel, Nick, and felt a chill of fear that he'd not prepared himself for. There was no convincing himself that this was just the vessel brought back to life, as it was wearing the familiar look of superiority Lucifer had always worn, even when he was trying to ingratiate himself with Sam.

Lucifer looked down over the railing and said, "Dean, Castiel, I think you have something for me…"

So… Lucifer is back which means it's time for some snark and stomping. Good times to write. Hopefully they'll be good for you to read.

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx