Disclaimer: Not mine.

Author's Note: Those who've figured where the chapter titles are coming from know that this chapter is going to be the last but one… And, this time, I'm going to leave it a little loose, because this is meant to segue into Let It Bleed.

This means (unfortunately) that there won't be a chick-flicky epilogue to this. However… There's more coming. ;-) One longer story (called In Libris Libertas; for once I don't have to scrabble for a title) that has five chapters to go to completion, one shorter multi-chapter fic and a bunch of one-shots. All I need is a little inspiration to get writing on them, because the muses have been behaving shamefully ever since my exams ended.

Thanks to The Lilac Elf of Lothlorien, Our Eleventh Hour, BranchSuper, OutTonightAndForever, APRIL26, Shakari, jayfeather63, cookjar, cold kagome, Smoochynose, Eavis, criminally charmed, Kittle, godsdaughter77, Kathryn Marie Black, Thunderstorm101, Katy M VT, Sparkiebunny, SandyDee84, anonymous, jafreckleslover, crazybookworm95, primadonna cat, SPN Mum, casammy, jensengirl4eva, Twinchester Angel, Mizuki hikari, racmw 13, Likaella, Don'tCallMeSammy, MysteryMadchen, teal-lover, IritIlan, TinTin11, dreamerswaking, T.L. Arens, Scribble2Much, Insomniac Owl, IrishNun and marziebarz for the reviews.

Thank you, again and always, to Cheryl, for listening.

Oh, and before you start reading… I've been even more evil in this. Bringing the story to a head, you know how it goes. You have been warned! :D

Chapter XIII: A Time to Love, and a Time to Hate

I could feel Dean's heart thudding at a mile a minute. He was trembling violently, but trying not to let me feel it, one hand rubbing my back and the other tangled in my hair. I could only imagine what he looked like to Mom and Dad and Dave. (Michael and Lucifer were watching with the same kind of detached fascination Gabriel usually had, except that with them it was about a hundred times creepier.)

I was aware – vaguely – that Dean was trying to get Mom to explain. I didn't bother to listen. I really didn't care. I was sure there was a good reason, and no doubt it was for my ultimate benefit, but what was it with all the people in my life thinking they could take my decisions for me? First Mom, then Dad, and then Dean.

And, yeah, it was probably a little illogical to be grumpy about how Dean never let me make my own decisions while at the same time clutching his shirt like a security blanket. But I really, truly, honestly didn't care. I can be mad at Dean and still let him hold me while I try not to cry. (Not that I was anywhere near crying. That's just a random example.) It's one of the privileges of being a little brother (or at least of being Dean's little brother).

The funny thing is that it's not uncomfortable to bend enough to bring my head to Dean's shoulder-height when we're both standing. The first time I tried – the first time after I got tall enough to realize that Dean's a garden gnome, I mean – was a few days after Jess died. I'd just finished the paperwork to take a term off and Dean was waiting for me in the quad. I went out, realized that Jess was dead and that if she hadn't had the misfortune to fall in love with me she wouldn't be, and the dam broke. Dean was ready for it, like he'd been expecting it, and before I realized I was sobbing he'd pulled my head down onto his shoulder.

I was expecting my back to protest after a couple of minutes, but Dean was on top of it. He had one hand on my spine, supporting and soothing, and I didn't even realize how awkwardly I was hunched over until I saw the shadow we were throwing on the Impala.

Anyway, back in the schoolroom, Dean was making a valiant effort to stay strong for me. I appreciated it. He might not be very good with concepts like agreeing to disagree, but he has the big brother thing down pat. All the questions he put to Mom were in a low, soothing rumble that made his chest vibrate. And if you haven't heard questions like, "Seriously? No offense, Mom, but were you out of your freaking mind?" being asked in the same tone of voice you'd normally use to reassure a terrified child…

(Yes, Dean, I admit I was a terrified child. Anyone would've been. Yes, Dean Winchester is awesome. Can we move on now? Thank you.)

I wasn't really listening to the details, but I got the gist of it. Gabriel showed up at the same time as Azazel and told Mom all about how I was destined to be Lucifer's vessel. You know the story. Then he embellished it with descriptions of Lucifer's Cage, which was what would be waiting for me when the Apocalypse happened and Michael inevitably won. And, of course, he left out the part about how Dean was destined to be Michael's vessel and they would just co-opt any subsequent Winchester children into taking my place.

Somehow it didn't surprise me to hear that Gabriel had been involved.

What did surprise me was how patiently Michael and Lucifer were standing by and watching. They seemed content to let the drama play out. That couldn't be a good sign.

For the past ten minutes I'd just been hearing two voices: Mom's and Dean's. Mom's was getting more defensive by the second and Dean sounded like he was trying really hard not to let the 'You dared lay your hands on my Sammy' voice seep through.

I really wasn't that mad at Mom. Sure, it sucked, but I could understand where she'd been coming from with the whole Vulcan needs of the many thing. More to the point (and this really is a sign of how screwed-up our lives have been) after Dean's stunt with the salt line and the memories that evoked of the panic room, it didn't really seem like that much of a betrayal. It sucked, but when Dean thought I couldn't be trusted to make the right decision, how could I expect anyone else, even my mother, to trust me at all?

"Hey," Dean said softly, shaking his shoulder to get my attention. "No angsting."

His voice snapped me out of it. It wasn't the time for self-pity. (When it comes to that, it never is the time for self-pity. Who was it who made that comment about how a small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself?)

That particular moment, though, was even less suitable for self-pity than other moments, and I really needed to stop whining, even if it was just to myself in my head. I was an adult, right? I could deal.

I'd gone there for a purpose, and that purpose hadn't been to snivel in Dean's arms.

I pushed away from Dean. Michael's eyes flickered towards me briefly. It wasn't a threat, more of a warning, letting me know he was watching me and he'd be prepared if I tried anything.

Not that there was a lot I could try. If I could've grabbed the sword and made a run at him I might have done it. If nothing else, it would have established that it was a stupid thing to do and kept Dean or someone else from trying. But I couldn't touch the sword. All I could do was fiddle with cell phones and laptops and other electronic stuff, and what was I going to do with that? Text Michael and Lucifer to death?

In the meantime, Dave had joined in the conversation. I couldn't quite figure out what he wanted. There was a lot of What the hell and He was my brother too and no doubt I should've been paying attention, because he was my brother, too, but right then it seemed like there were more important things to worry about.

I needed to think. There had to be a way out of this. Not just out of this particular situation, which really didn't worry me that much – this was one of Gabriel's games, and now that I'd had time to think about it I was pretty sure that bringing about an Apocalypse here wouldn't make one happen in the real world. If it'd been that easy Raphael would've done it.

No, the key here was what the Fates wanted. What they were holding over Gabriel to make him participate was a different question altogether, one I wasn't sure I wanted to go into.

The answer to that was obvious. The Fates wanted the Apocalypse. They wanted destiny and –

And the pieces fell in place.

I'd been an idiot not to see it sooner.

But before I did anything, I needed to talk to Gabriel. I had to be sure I was right. (You see, Dean? I didn't just 'do something monumentally stupid and potentially calamitous without the slightest clue whether or not it would work'.)

I slid through the wall and out of the room. Michael and Lucifer watched me go without much interest. It was clear that, as far as they were concerned, my part in the story was over. They were there for their vessels, not for the baby who was killed before he could grow up and play the role destiny had chosen for him.

Gabriel had said he wouldn't come back – but I was guessing that meant he wouldn't come back uninvited. He might still show up if I prayed.

I hesitated for a moment, feeling a little silly. Then I shut my eyes and tried, "Dear Gabriel, I could really use some help right now. So if you could… umm… show yourself, that'd be awesome. Thank you."

I heard the rustle of wings a moment before I opened my eyes.

"Seriously, Sammy?" Gabriel asked. "You can't manage by yourself for five minutes?"

"When you said the Apocalypse would echo through every world, you didn't mean the Apocalypse would necessarily happen in our world, did you?"

"Brilliant deduction, Sammy. I knew you couldn't be entirely stupid."

"It's the Fates," I said, ignoring his jibe. "That's it, isn't it? The Fates have – what, have they got permission from God or something? If it happens here, they're allowed to try to rewrite our history."

"Not exactly. But correct in the essentials, and since you have an aversion to physics – we could discuss some basic quantum principles and I could explain it to you? No? Fine, then. Yes. The way to make everything end is to prevent the Apocalypse here. If it happens here, the Fates – well, they don't have permission, because I know for a fact that they haven't spoken directly to my father. They'll – let's say they'll feel justified in trying to pull out your thread and thereby cause the end of the world."

"They can't do it without my consent, though, can they?"

"Don't make the mistake of underestimating them, little Sammy. If they want your consent, they'll find a way to get your consent."

"If the Apocalypse doesn't happen here, they'll just give up?"

Gabriel sighed. "Do you ever stop asking questions? Raphael hinted to them that this might work. They didn't really believe him but they decided to try – just in case. If it doesn't work, they won't risk breaking the rules. It is a rule, like you said: if you've won, then you've won."

"OK… Thanks."

I all but ran back into the other room.

I found myself in the middle of a disaster.

I had no idea how so much had happened in so short a time – I couldn't have been gone more than five minutes. Literally five minutes, and I came back to find that Michael and Lucifer had had time to go to wherever they'd stashed the kids, bring two, and begin –

OK, before I put any horrific imagery in people's heads, they weren't torturing the children. There were two: a boy and a girl, both around six years old. They were terrified and crying but unhurt.

Other than holding a wrist of each to keep them from running, Michael and Lucifer were ignoring them. Their focus was all on Dean and David.

It was fascinating (yup, this is a digression) to watch them. From a purely academic standpoint, of course; I don't mean it was fascinating to watch children being threatened. It was just – the way they spoke. So different. Michael was arrogant, haughty, giving orders and issuing threats. He expected to be obeyed and he was astonished that it wasn't happening, that there'd even been a need for threats.

Lucifer – oh, I knew Lucifer. I didn't remember Hell, but I remembered his voice when he first possessed me. The persuasiveness, the seduction…

Lucifer knew how to make people fall, and he was making headway with David much faster than Dean was with Michael. (Dean disclaims credit and says he was on the verge of saying Yes when I showed up. He didn't look it, although I didn't really get a look at him until after he'd seen me, so I can't say.)

Anyway, threatened harm to children was clearly something Dave had bracketed under things even angels wouldn't be douchey enough to do. Poor kid had a lot to learn.

I hesitated for a moment. Dave was about to say yes, and for my plan to work I'd have to let him. If I was wrong –

If I was wrong, Dean was going to kill me.

Lucifer was holding the girl. He shoved her forward, so that she landed on her knees.

"Come on, David," Lucifer cooed. "She doesn't have to suffer. Are you really going to condemn a child – children – to the worst tortures I can devise just to spare yourself a little discomfort? You can gamble all you want with your own life. Do you have the right to risk anybody else's?"

Dean met my eyes. We knew it was going to happen, and neither of us was surprised when Dave said, "Yes."

"What?" Lucifer cocked his head. "I didn't quite catch that."

"Yes," Dave choked. "Yes, damn you! Just let her go. Yes."

"Very good, David. I knew you could be reasonable." There was a flash of light. It dimmed slowly. Lucifer's previous vessel was lying on the ground – dead, by the looks of it – and David was looking around with a very familiar, chilling smile. "Michael," he said, and it wasn't Dave's voice anymore. "I'm ready. I'll see you at Stull whenever you can persuade your monkey to be reasonable."

I held my breath until Lucifer vanished, and then I let it out. That was good – better than I expected. With only one of them in the room, the plan might actually work.

I wished I'd been able to tell Dean – to warn him, because he wasn't going to like it. He was going to have to trust me blindly, and we'd just seen how well expecting him to trust me had gone that evening. (God, Dean, no! I'm not still upset about that, and yes, you can touch the freaking salt shaker. Idiot.)

Michael turned to Dean. He was about to seriously hurt the kid –

"Wait," I said, praying with everything I had that I was right. It would work. It had to work. Michael had been willing to switch from Dean to Adam, right? "Wait – I'll do it."

Dean said, "Sam, no – not here. You can't do it. It won't work."

"We do have a problem, little Sammy," Michael said, and I wanted to put that angel-killing sword right through his smug face – but if I went for it, I'd be dead in a second and it would be over. "You're a spirit. I can't possess a spirit."

Mom and Dad both looked horrified as they realized what was happening. Dad opened his mouth, but shut it at a furious look from Mom, who said, "Sam – no. If you can hear me, don't do this, please. I'm sorry – I'm sorry about everything, but please don't do this."

I ignored Mom, although it hurt to do so. The first time in my life my mother had asked me for anything, and I was turning her down.

"Bring me back," I told Michael. "You don't need Dean specifically, just the Winchester bloodline. Bring me back and I'll do it."

"Sam," Dean said desperately, "we don't –"

"Shut up, Dean. I'm not stupid. What you're doing, this whole heroism thing? It isn't going to work." I hoped Dean would get it. "Mom really thought I couldn't handle being a vessel for an Archangel? That I wouldn't be strong enough?"

Understanding flickered across Dean's face for a split-second, so briefly that even Michael couldn't have seen it.

"Don't be a little bitch, Sam. Just back off and let me handle this, OK?"

"No," I said more firmly. "I'm not stupid, and –"

"Boys," Michael cut in firmly. "Time's wasting." He snapped his fingers. Dean was flung aside; he hit the chalkboard and fell. He got up right away, wincing and rubbing his shoulder. "Are you ready, Sam?"

"Yes," I breathed. "Yes, I'm ready."

I focused every bit of my mind on stay in control, stay in control, stay in control –

Colours and sounds in a never-ending rush, a tugging, pulling, joining feeling –

And then I heard Mom scream and Dad curse and I knew I'd been resurrected. Alive, whole, in one piece, ready to take in Michael.

Stay in control.

The light brightened and maybe it was blinding but I could still see. Michael's true form, bright and huge and glorious, and an exhilarating rush like nothing I'd known before –

I was trapped in my own head, watching helplessly as my own fist hit Dad in the jaw and hearing my own voice taunt Mom –

No. No no no no no.

Dad sprawled on the ground, looking at me like I was a monster.

This couldn't be happening. I had to take over – I had to –

A ray of light glinted off the amulet Dean was still wearing, and I heard him say, "Sam, come on, fight it. You can do it, Sammy. I'm here." Michael flicked a finger at him, and Dean hit the chalkboard again. "Sam," he hissed, struggling up to his knees. "You're stronger than he is. Fight. C'mon, Sam, do it for me."

Suddenly I felt it, just like I had in Stull Cemetery: a sudden rush of strength that I hadn't been able to find until I'd known Dean was there and I'd needed to be strong for him.

Michael was an easier takedown than Lucifer had been. Michael… never really understood men. He just stood there like a brick wall, not moving, even when something more powerful than he was – like the strength only Dean could give me – beat against his restraints.

"Dean," I gasped, knowing the rush of adrenaline-fuelled strength wouldn't last and I wouldn't be able to hold him long, "the sword. Now."

"What? No!"

"Dean, please. Trust me."

"With Lucifer in Dave?" Mom demanded. "No. What would we be unleashing?"

"Nothing." I looked at Dean. "Please – please. I can't hold him much longer. This will make it all end, Dean. Everything. Please just trust me."

Dean looked at me. "Sam –"

"Trust me, Dean."

Dean jerked a nod, grabbed the angel-killing sword from the table, and took a step forwards.

"Dean!" Mom protested, grabbing his arm to stop him. "Are you out of your mind? Don't listen to him – for all you know it could still be Michael talking. It might be some kind of trick!"

Dean looked into my eyes. "No," he said quietly. "It's Sam."

"But –"

Dean pushed her off and lunged wildly forward. I felt the knife go in, straight to the heart, in and out fast and hard – probably the only way Dean could bring himself to do it.

It hurt.

Dean wrapped his arms around me, holding me on my feet. "I've got you, Sam… and if I don't get you back, I am tracking you down wherever the hell you are and kicking your ass, you hear me?"

"Dean," I murmured, because that was the only word in any language that I could remember right then.

The world went dark.

Evil and proud. ;-)

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