Thanks go to Gredelia1 for pre-reading and to Snarkymuch2 for giving me the plot bunny. This story is un-beta'd so any mistakes that remain are my own.

Chapter Fourteen

Dean stumbled down the stairs and into the lounge. It was early, not yet dawn, but his night had been broken and full of torturous dreams, and he was done trying to sleep. He went into the empty kitchen and set the coffee machine to working. Leaning against the counter, he took in the room.

Bobby was absent, probably still sleeping, and Cas was in Heaven fighting his tireless war against Raphael. And Sam was… gone. Dean felt lonely. He wished his brother, his real brother was there to talk to him, but he wasn't, which was precisely the problem.

If their situations were reversed, Sam would probably know exactly what to do to help Dean. He would know the right thing to say. He sure as hell wouldn't have blurted out the truth, freaking Dean out and probably scaring him off for good. Dean couldn't help it though. Listening to Sam blaming himself for what had happened had affected Dean, and he'd wanted to reassure Sam. It had all got out of control from there. He couldn't be sure the real Sam, the Sam that knew who and what he was, didn't believe that he'd killed their father too. It hadn't been Sam's fault, it had been Dean's. John had made the deal to save his life.

The coffee machine gurgled as it finished, pulling Dean from his thoughts. He poured himself a mug and carried it out onto the back porch. The sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon, casting light over the stacks of cars.

Dean stared out over the scrap-yard and his mind travelled back over the years to his childhood. John used to come to Bobby for help with cases, and Sam and Dean would spend hours running around the yard, using it as their own personal playground while John and Bobby were closeted up together in the house. They had been good times, and the thought that those easier times were gone forever made Dean sad.

He heard footsteps behind him, and he knew who it would be without turning. "Morning, Bobby."

"Dean." Bobby's tone made it clear that Bobby's bad mood of the past two days hadn't softened at all. He understood it, even agreed with it, but that didn't stop him wishing Bobby would give him a break. He had screwed up, he knew that better than anyone, and he didn't need Bobby's omnipresent gloom to keep reminding him.

"You want coffee?" Dean asked.

"If I want it, I will get it myself."

Dean wondered why Bobby had come out at all if all he was going to do was demonstrate just how angry he still was. He decided to have a last ditch effort at making things right with the older hunter. He turned and looked up at him. "I'm sorry, Bobby. I know I screwed up, but don't you think you've made that point clear? Do you still have to be pissy with me?"

Bobby crossed the porch and sat down on the opposite side of the steps. He scrubbed a hand through his beard and looked hard at Dean. "What makes you think I'm pissed at you?"

Dean laughed mirthlessly. "Oh, I don't know, maybe the fact you're barely speaking to me."

"And I'm usually so chatty?"

"You don't usually hold back," Dean said.

Bobby sighed. "You messed up, Dean, messed up big."

"I didn't mean to," Dean said. "It was just listening to him talking like that…"

"It was hard on you, God knows I get it. You shouldn't have been there in the first place, though. If you'd listened to me, all this could have been avoided. I told you not to go, but as always, you thought you knew better than everyone else."

Dean gritted his teeth and bore it. He knew he deserved Bobby's wrath, and in a perverse way, he felt better for hearing it.

"Thanks to you, Sam isn't going to talk to either of us now. I went by there yesterday and—"

"You did?" Dean knew Bobby had gone out the day before, but he didn't realize he'd gone to Sam's.

"I did. And I couldn't get Sam to answer the door. Now, because of you, we've lost the tenuous connection we had going on."

"I'm sorry, Bobby," Dean said for what felt like the hundredth time.

"I know you are, boy," Bobby said and Dean thought, hopefully, that there was some softening in Bobby's tone. "But because of your hot head, it's all screwed to hell. Sam isn't going to talk to us, and we've no way of knowing what he's doing now. We have no way of reconnecting with him and making him believe the truth."

Dean scowled. "That's what I was trying to do. How were you planning on breaking the news to him that his life is a lie and the delusion is real?"

"I don't know," Bobby said irritably. "But I sure as hell wasn't planning on doing it on my second time meeting the guy."

"He's my brother!" Dean said angrily. It wasn't his second time meeting him, dammit; it was the latest in a lifetime of memories. He refused to see Sam as someone new as Bobby seemed determined to do.

"Yeah, he's your brother," Bobby said tiredly. "And thanks to you, we might never see him again."

Dean pushed off of the steps and went into the house. He'd not driven the Impala since the day after Sam went missing, but he grabbed the keys up now and stomped out to the yard. He wasn't going to listen to Bobby's accusations anymore. He was going to go for a long drive until they'd both had a chance to calm down.

Dean had been on the road for a few hours, just driving around the city limits, when his phone rang. He checked the caller ID and saw it was Bobby. Not wanting to get in on another round of just how much he had screwed up, he diverted it to voicemail. Less than a minute later, it rang again. Dean diverted it once again and tossed it onto the seat beside him.

His determination to avoid Bobby lasted through the next few calls before an idea occurred to him. Bobby seemed determined to get hold of him; he might have news of Sam. He dialed up his messenger service and heard Bobby's voice sounding harassed. "Dean, answer the phone dammit. It's Sam."

Dean did a u-turn and directed the car back to Bobby's, dialing as he went. Bobby answered on the first ring. "Dean?"

"What's happened to Sam?" he asked immediately.

"I don't know. Sheriff Mills turned up looking for him. The hospital reported him missing. Apparently he missed an appointment with his doctor."

Dean's chest contracted painfully. "Has anyone spoken to him?"

"No, he's not answering the phone to the Doc, and when the Sheriff went by his place he didn't answer."

Dean took a calming breath. "Okay, I'll go by his place and see if he's there."

"If he wouldn't answer his door to the cops, he's not going to answer it for you."

"I don't plan on knocking, Bobby." Dean was hoping Sam was just overwhelmed and pissed by everything and was ignoring the door, but he couldn't entirely dispel his fears that something bad had happened to him. The image of his brother lying supine on the floor of a dirty cabin in Rhode Island came to him. That had been a spill of Hell from behind the wall. What if the same thing had happened again?

He hung up the phone and turned onto the main road that would lead him to Sam's apartment. Pushing the car to its limits got him to Sam's fast, and soon he was jumping out of the car and crossing the small parking lot.

He hammered on the door. "Sam, let me in. I know you're pissed, man, but people are worried about you."

There was no response. He glanced up and down the street then squatted in front of the door. He inserted the long prong of the pick into the lock and began the laborious task of finding the catch. Sweat beaded on his brow as he worked, nervous under the pressure of the moment and fear of what he would find inside. The lock clicked, and Dean straightened. He cracked open the door and peered inside.

"Sam, you here?"

There was a sound from the bedroom, and Dean crept to the door. He had a thought that he might find his brother in bed, but he figured he would deal with that if it happened. Sam could call the cops, but the Sheriff would smooth things over for him. The more pressing concern was the further damage it could do to his relationship with Sam.

He pushed open the door, holding his breath, but there was no one there. Sam's bed was neatly made, but he was nowhere in sight.

Dean turned away and then took an involuntary step back. He was no longer alone, though it wasn't Sam there with him or even the cops, it was Abiel.

"You!" he hissed.

Abiel smiled. "Yes, me."

"What have you done with Sam?"

Abiel's smile widened. "You'll see."

Then, faster than Dean could process it, he was in front of Dean and his fingers were pressed against Dean's temple.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he was met with an unfamiliar sneering smile. "Dean, so good of you to join us," the woman said.

He pushed himself to a sitting position and rubbed his aching head. He guessed Abiel hadn't thought to catch him after knocking him out. There was an impressive lump on his temple.

"Let me guess, Raphael? Don't think much of the new vessel. At least the last chick was a hottie, now you're a, what, heavenly librarian?"

Raphael smiled grimly. "The wife of a preacher actually. I answered her prayers quite literally. She wanted to feel the presence of the divine."

Dean scoffed. "And you think you count as divine?"

"I am an archangel. I am the very essence of divine."

"And taking my brother and screwing with his memories, that's divine is it?"

She smiled. "Perhaps it doesn't count as divine, but it certainly was fun."

Dean's hands clenched into fists. "You bitch. Where's Sam?"

"He's close," she said, "He'll be glad to see you. He's been waiting for you to arrive; he even tried calling to you a few times."

Dean's breath came quicker. He could only imagine what she had been doing to Sam to make him call for Dean.

Oblivious to Dean's tormented thoughts, Raphael continued. "He knows the truth now, you know? It was quite the revelation for him."

Dean closed his eyes and relished the deliciousness of relief for a moment. They were still screwed, and there was no knowing what had happened to Sam while Raphael had him, but at least he knew the truth now. It didn't help their immediate predicament, of course, but Dean would take the victories where he could get them.

"Now, I think you two have been apart long enough," Raphael said. "It's time you were reunited with your brother."

She crossed the wide room and disappeared through a door. Dean heard a scuffling sounds and a moan which sounded horribly like Sam, then she reappeared, dragging something behind her. With a sinking heart, Dean realized it was Sam that she was dragging. Dean scrambled to his feet and stumbled towards them. Raphael released Sam and he fell to the floor with a meaty thud. Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and turned him gently. As he caught sight of Sam's face, he sucked in a breath between his teeth. Sam's face was a mess of bruises and shallow cuts, and there were bruises around his throat, Dean realized someone, presumably Raphael, had choked Sam.

He patted Sam's cheek gently and he was rewarded with a glimpse of iris between cracked lids. "Sammy?"

Sam licked his cracked lips and winced. "Hey."

Dean smiled. "You okay?"

Sam nodded. "Never better." Groaning, he rolled onto his side and pushed himself to a sitting position. Dean helped him with an arm at his back.

"This is such a touching moment," Raphael said. "It seems a shame to interrupt it, but I am short on time. It's only a matter of time before Castiel realizes you have been taken too, and then he will be hot on my heels. His love for you hairless apes knows no bounds."

Dean patted his brother's arm in reassurance and comfort and then got to his feet. "So, what are you going to do?"

"I would have thought that was obvious. I am going to kill you. Castiel was rendered useless to the cause when Sam was taken. Imagine what he will be like when he is focused on avenging you."

Dean swallowed. He had no fear of his own death. There was no fear of the unknown for him as he had seen it before. What scared him was his brother's death. He could leave the world behind without regret, but he couldn't bear the thought of a world in which his brother wasn't. He had lived that life before, and he had no inclination to do it again. He knew it was selfish, to expect his brother to live through what he could not, but he never claimed to be a selfless man.

"I see I have your attention," Raphael said. "Now, as the older brother you have the perk of deciding what happens next. I only need one of you dead, as the survivor's devastation will spur Castiel's vengeance, so who should die?"

There was no question in Dean's mind. He knew it had to be him. Before he could speak up, Sam spoke.

"Kill me."

"Sam, no!"

"Let me guess, you want to be the one," Raphael said to Dean. "This is quite the conundrum for you both. Neither wants to live without the other, and yet one must. Now, who will it be?"

"Dean, please," Sam croaked. "Let it be me."

Dean shook his head jerkily. "No, Sammy. I can't."

"You don't understand. I can't live like this. She broke me. I don't care anymore."

Dean's brow creased with confusion. "What do you mean?"

Raphael laughed. "Poor Sam has a confession to make. I have had plenty of time to sift through his mind, and the things I found there would make you weep."

Dean didn't know how he mustered the will when everything about him screamed defeated, but Sam got to unsteady feet and faced off against Raphael. "Stop. You want to kill someone, kill me, but he doesn't need to know."

Raphael shook her head slowly. "Sam, you are asking for mercy from me. After everything you did, after you trapped Michael in the cage, you think I would care enough to offer you mercy."

"Please." Sam was pleading with Raphael, but Dean didn't know why. What was she talking about? What had she found in Sam's mind that he didn't want Dean to know?

Raphael tilted her head to the side and considered Sam for a moment. "I won't tell him, on one condition."

"Anything," Sam said his tone layered with relief.

"You must let him die. He can go onto Heaven, never knowing the truth, as long as you stand aside."

Dean felt an inkling of hope. He didn't want to die, he wasn't suicidal, but he didn't want his brother to die for him. Whatever it was that Sam was hiding from him was big; Sam clearly didn't want Dean to know, perhaps it was better that he didn't.

"No," Sam spoke through gritted teeth. "Kill me!"

Raphael smiled. "That's a coward's answer. You are a coward. You would rather die than have your brother know the truth."

Sam shrugged. "So I'm a coward. I don't care."

Dean was a coward, too. He feared his brother's death more than his own because he knew which was the option that would break him, and it wasn't his own demise.

Raphael crossed the room and rifled through a canvas holdall that Dean recognized as own from the trunk of the Impala. His heart sank as he knew what she was going to produce from its depths. "I hope you don't mind me borrowing this," she said. "I thought it would be poetic to kill you with your own gun."

Dean realized that the question of who would die was never really in question. She had decided from the beginning that Dean was the one that was going to die.

Sam stepped closer to Dean and his hand gripped Dean's forearm. Dean thought it was to steady him as he seemed to be wavering on his feet. Dean placed his own hand over Sam's and squeezed. "It's okay. Sammy."

Sam shook his head. "No."

Raphael raised the gun and thumbed off the safety. "Anything you want to say to your brother, Sam? Any confessions you want to make."

Sam shook his head. "Nothing."

"Pity."

Dean heard the crack of the gun and he felt himself colliding with the floor, but the pain he was expecting didn't come. He raised his head slowly from the floor and looked up at Raphael. She wasn't looking at him, she was looking at Sam, and her face was a picture of fury.

"You dare!"

It was only then, as Sam dropped to the floor, that Dean noticed the blood blossoming on the front of his brother's shirt.

"Sam!"

Sam rolled his head towards Dean. "Sorry."

Am I evil? Yeah, I'm evil. The next (and last) chapter will be with you soon.