Chapter 21: War Pigs

"Do you feel that?" Azazel asked. Sam was able to put a face and a name to the voice now. He wasn't just 'the male' anymore. Yellow eyes, smarmy grin, lying bastard…

"Feel what?"

He knew that voice too: Lilith, the lying hell-bitch. The two of them were standing by the open back doors waiting for something. Sam wished he knew what it was so he could smash it; destroy it somehow, so they couldn't have it. Both because it would ruin their plans and because he wanted them to suffer.

Whatever high he'd been on was wearing off, because Sam knew he was in the back of a van that had been travelling over some very badly maintained roads. He knew they were stopped. He knew he'd been travelling at least a couple days because he had whiskers he could rub on his pillow. Unlike Dean, he'd always liked to be perfectly clean shaven because whisker-burn was a bitch on Dean's sensitive skin. He didn't want to hurt Dean. Never hurt Dean…

He brought his thoughts back to his current situation with difficulty. He may not be stoned anymore but he still had a hard time thinking.

"I dunno," Azazel said quietly, as if he'd scented danger. "Power."

Sam could feel that too. Like the bass notes in some of Dean's music, thrumming through his bones, making his lungs vibrate. It felt like a sigil line cast by giants. He was a giant, or nearly. So much taller than everyone else he knew. Except Dean. And his Dad. He liked being tall, being powerful. He liked floating too…

"We are approaching the world's largest pentagram. It's got sigils and everything. You think it might be what you're sensing?" Lilith said with a sneer Sam didn't have to see. God, he thought, they hated each other almost as much as he hated them. Too bad they didn't kill each other.

"It's gone now." Azazel didn't sound happy.

No, it wasn't, but Sam didn't tell him that. Wouldn't have even if he could get his tongue to work. Which he probably could, but he didn't want to. Not to help them.

"It was probably a natural fluctuation in the land's energy flow. This close to Colt's little decoration, there are bound to be some." Azazel grunted neither agreeing nor disagreeing.

Sam had an idea and he focused on the energy he felt zinging around inside him, all around him, in the air…

He focused once more. He drew a sigil to pull the energy to it and give it purpose, said the spellword to give the power direction, and forced everything out of his body. He'd aimed it at the two evil, lying demons who had imprisoned him and taken Dean. He wanted to explode their hearts or liquefy their brains, or give them extreme sunburn—anything—but it was like trying to fish a hair out of a bowl of water. Like before, when he cast his power at them, it skidded around them, doing no damage to anything as far as he can tell.

"He's trying to zap us again," Azazel growled, "Are you sure the spells will hold?"

"They'vebeen working all this time so I doubt they'll fail now. He can only hurt metal or full-blooded demons. We're neither so relax," she said.

They weren't demons? But their eyes, the way they'd reacted to the exorcism, if they weren't demons, what were they? Bunnies? They were insane, sure, but not rabid. Had to be demons. Sam tried to work it out, but he had to start his thoughts over every time his mind misfired, which was way too often. Good thing he couldn't see the sky or he'd be doing some serious cloud-watching instead of trying to stop whatever they were planning. He wondered if they could see the sky today, or was Dust blocking it out. Dust demons infecting the sky…

He brought his mind back under control and tried to make another sigil.

Lilith hummed a child's nursery rhyme that Sam almost knew. They were waiting, that was obvious. Sam wondered what they were waiting for. Wondered if he might be able to kill them a different way.

"Brady," she chirruped "finally. You made sure they didn't suffer?"

"I was quick, just like you wanted." Sam knew that voice, another liar. He threw together another spellword and the power rolled out of him and towards the betrayer. And then it rolled to the ground, as useless as all the others.

"Nice try, champ," Azazel mocked.

Sam yanked at his bindings but they were sturdy handcuffs, spelled and warded. He couldn't even hit anything.

"Brady, where are the glasses," Lilith demanded.

His sigils weren't working. Maybe he should forget about using sigils and spellwords. Demons didn't use them and he was full of demon blood. Maybe he should put his power out there using only his mind. He had all this power inside him, bubbling in his veins—like a distillery. He should be able to use it…

"The…glasses?"

"Yes, the glasses." Her voice was petulant. "I'm not going to chug from the container like a barbarian. I need a glass."

Azazel snorted. "It's blood, Lilith, and you're going to drink it. Makes it kind of hard to dodge the barbarian label."

"I know it's blood. But I liked Steve," she pouted. "He was fun for a human. He deserves some respect. Plus the container is messy. It'll drip on my dress."

"Oh for…" Sam heard Azazel's impatient huff. "Go get the princess a glass. We do have a schedule, if you remember."

They were nearly finished here. He needed to stop them. Needed to end them…

This time, when he threw his power out of his body, he didn't bother with sigils or spellwords. Instead he thought of the van's tires exploding, its crankshaft breaking or whatever other metal do-hickies lived in the engine rusting away in an instant. It didn't work. The energy ignored the van and raced to a target somewhere out there. Sam heard a cry, then a loud bang, a whoosh, a crash and glass breaking, followed a minute later by an explosion.

"Well. That was impressive," Azazel's voice was reflective. "Brady and the oldest car in the group. And no wussy sigil either."

"I told you," Lilith trilled in happy triumph. "With the right trigger Sam won't have any trouble taking out the tracks then killing sixty-six demons."

Sixty-six? Sam thought. The way he was feeling, six hundred wouldn't be enough to combat his frustration and anger and fear. He nearly laughed out loud. If they wanted him to kill demons, all he would say was bring it.

"How much time do we have?" Dean asked again as he twisted wire into cable. His wrists hurt and it was starting to radiate up his arms, but it wasn't time to swap tasks with his dad yet so he tried to ignore it.

Castiel didn't look up from the consecrated iron rods he was squeezing into thinner, more malleable wire. "They have crossed the tracks but the road is bad, so perhaps an hour."

"They won't see our tracks?"

"I erased them."

Dean nodded, trusting the angel's efficiency. He looked at his father who was placing the cable into the ground in the pattern Gabriel had drawn for them. John clenched his jaw but kept chanting the prayer and laying the cable. They were more than half-way done but an hour wasn't much time to get the complicated symbols right.

"We have sufficient time," Castiel said calmly.

"I hope so."

Bobby and Ellen and Bill and Andy and the rest were holding the line. Better than 'holding' since even the most junior, inexperienced hunter could cast a keep-away spell in Latin, and these guys weren't junior or inexperienced. Bobby heard a dozen or more languages as the people fighting alongside him cast exorcism after exorcism and the bodies coughed up their demons and fell to the ground. There were sparks along the railroad track where the streams got too close to the hastily erected ward wall and were forced back. There were also Dust Bunnies. Shotguns loaded with rock-salt rounds worked pretty good at keeping them away even if the almost constant percussion was starting to make his ears hurt.

He heard—or maybe it was felt—something big go down behind them, in the center of the devil's trap. His eyes closed in involuntary prayer. 'Please let them be alright', followed by 'please let this work' but that prayer was nearly constant so it didn't count.

When he opened his eyes he was facing someone new. One man was tall, with pale eyes and no hair; maybe his age, maybe older. He was wearing a suit and it made him look like one of those mid-level executives Bobby used to watch on Dallas. Right now, the guy was looking a mite unhappy. Bunnies came in to attack him but he flicked a hand and they disappeared—no flare, just 'poof' gone.

Huh. Likely not a demon then.

The other guy was younger, shorter, and skinnier. Stubbled cheeks and a colorful tank top under a bland suit coat that he'd stolen from Don Johnson in Miami Vice. The younger one looked around: at Bobby, at the railroad line, at the hunters lining the tracks and the demons they were fighting, and the bodies that were the result.

Neither one of them said anything so Bobby kept up his spellwords using whatever language felt right, although as usual, he used Japanese the most. His Daddy, who'd been at Pearl Harbor, would've been horrified but Japanese was a commanding language, good for battle casting.

He watched as the older guy reached out a hand and pushed at the wall. The air bent and stretched until it flashed and snapped and pushed the guy's hand back. Pink sparkly light coruscated over his arm as the guy shook away the spell.

"Against angels too?" the skinny one commented. "Someone was planning ahead."

The older one finally looked at Bobby. His eyes were cold and his smile was unimpressed. "You didn't do that on your own."

It wasn't a question so Bobby didn't answer. A full-bodied demon ran at the thin one. At the last moment, the guy raised his hand so the demon ran smack into his palm. "Affa amiran," he intoned casually and the Dust poured out of the body, swirling against the ground before flying away.

Definitely not demons. In fact, if Bobby had to guess, he'd think these were Gabriel's 'dick relatives' come to help start the Apocalypse.

"I have to say, I underestimated Castiel," the guy said as he straightened his tie. "I took him for a brainless foot soldier, good at following orders and completely lacking in initiative, but if he taught a bunch of hairless apes how to do this–" a wave of the hand indicated the wall where streamers and Bunnies were being repelled all along its length. "I'll have to re-examine his last job appraisal."

The statement confirmed that these were angels, but it still wasn't a question so Bobby still didn't say anything. He kept an eye out for sudden attackers but the angels seemed to be keeping most of them away.

The skinny one took a turn poking at the wall, casually kicking the emptied and now dead bodies out of his way in order to get close. "This is wonderful work," he commented.

The older one rolled his eyes in disgust. He turned pale blue eyes on Bobby and his smile shifted to something nasty "You think this will stand? Against me?"

Now that was a question. "If we've done it right," Bobby answered stoically.

The smile disappeared.

"Do you know who I am?" His eyes narrowed and Bobby could see the anger breaking through the composed demeanor. "In Heaven I have six wings and four faces, one of which is a lion. What are you? Nothing but a maggot inside a worm's ass."

There was a change in air pressure, the sound of wings fluttering, and Gabriel was standing beside him munching on something, with peanut butter from the smell. "I know who you are. You're the pompous ass-kisser we call Zachariah."

The skinny one didn't bother to pretend he was coughing. "Hello cuz," he said warmly.

"Hallo, Balthazar." Gabriel smiled back.

Bobby eased over a ways, not wanting to get in the middle of a family feud but not wanting to miss it either.

"Gabriel, of course." The guy—Zachariah—gave an unhappy chuckle. "Three millennia, four? No contact, no trace. Last we heard you'd gone pagan. And now you turn up here?"

"What can I say? I got great timing."

"Your timing is abysmal. Do you have any idea what's going on, whose plan you're messing up?" Another bodied demon showed up. This one pointed a gun at Zachariah. With a flick, the angel knocked the gun away and the demon was forced out of the body it was possessing.

"Puh-leez," Gabriel snorted. "I'd recognize my brothers' fingerprints anywhere." The disembodied demon started to streak away like the last one Zachariah had taken care of but Gabriel looked at it and whistled, and it withered, turned to ash and blew away. Bobby eased a couple more steps to the side.

"He never was subtle," the skinny one commented and earned a fierce glare from Zachariah.

"We've gone to a lot of work to make sure everything is in place for this," the well-dressed angel snarled "and we're going to end it once and for all. If you don't have the guts to do what needs to be done, you should crawl back to your hidey-hole."

"You know I would," Gabriel responded breezily "except you guys went and ruined it for me. There I was, in my own little witness protection plan, sticking it to all the pompous hypocrites—and calling them Michael by the way—when you dicks let Lilith bust open the door causing death and destruction all 'round." He tilted his head and glared at his fellow angel. "Kinda hard to hide when most places have a population of ten."

"There are lots of places you could live." Zachariah sneered. "Africa still worships pagans, which is what you've become."

Gabriel chuckled. "The way you're baiting me, you must still be angling for that promotion, Zachie-boy?"

"It's Zachariah," he said with a defiant lift of his chin.

"He is," the slim one said. "He's hoping he'll be made VP if he pulls this off."

"Balthazar!" The air cracked and the grasses flattened. Nearby demons were knocked over by the wind gust.

"Just speaking the truth, like a good little angel." Balthazar raised his hands. "Stupid thing to hope for, in my opinion. Michael can't promote you any higher because he can't make you an archangel. Only Father can and he's not here."

"Don't you think we have a better chance of finding him if we're back home? Real home, not the half-assed fairy-tale the humans get," Zachariah demanded.

"And what about the people here—what's left of them," Gabriel muttered. "What happens to them?"

Zachariah shrugged nonchalantly, smoothing out his suit. "Well… You can't make an omelet without breaking a few eggs."

"Or in this case, truckloads of eggs," Bobby muttered. Balthazar grinned at him.

Zachariah pretended he didn't exist. "Once we kill Lucifer there's no reason for us to remain here. We'll be free to go home. Heaven, but for real."

"Your intentions may be good," Gabriel said "but it's not the road to Heaven that's paved with good intentions."

"Oh I think the odds are on our side."

"That's what Hitler thought when he invaded Russia." This time all three angels looked at him and Bobby pretended, very hard, to be studiously occupied.

"That Michael has gone to so much trouble to arrange this little showdown should give you an idea of how serious he is about this. You stand in his way and he'll just mow you down. After all, all he's trying to do is get us back to Heaven, permanently. If you help, I'm sure all your… peccadillos will be forgiven." Zachariah leaned in intently. "He'll be grateful; you know he will. In fact, he'll reward all of us in unimaginable ways."

Gabriel sneered and lifted his hand. "You know what? I keep hearing this." He opened and closed his hand to make it 'talk'. "But what I want to be hearing is this." He closed his hand and flicked it, and Zachariah disappeared in a burst of static, leaving only the fizz-pop of demons hitting the wards, and the gun-fire and shouting of the hunters fighting along the railroad tracks. There was also thunder.

"Ah. That's much better."

"Huh," Balthazar said. "You realize, when he comes back he's going to be pissed." Gabriel shrugged and popped another candy in his mouth. Balthazar smirked. "I'm going to go kill some demons while we wait for his return."

"Knock yourself out," Gabriel said just before the other angel disappeared.

Angels, Bobby decided, were freaking nuts.

"So this is Colt's door," Azazel said. He was standing next to a plain stone crypt with a plain stone door, touching its overly ornate lock. "You know, if I'd've been able to find that damn gun, we'd be doing this my way."

"Not once you'd killed your golden boy."

"I didn't kill him," the demon growled. "It was the kid breaking my wards."

"Whatever." Lilith dismissed the old argument with casual superiority.

Sam heard the exchange but from a distance. His skin was vibrating. It was hard to hold a thought. It wasn't the power inside him, with its dark familiarity. No, this was… other. This was in his bones. He'd changed. He'd felt it when they'd crossed into the protected lands, a hum beneath his skin. For some reason it had reminded him of Dean and he'd redoubled his efforts to get free. He'd struggled. He'd cursed. He'd thrown his power out at the world with no thought of control.

And something had broken within him.

"Sam? Sam," Lilith snapped her fingers. He couldn't look away from her white eyes. He knew someone else with white eyes but Pamela wasn't a demon. He didn't think. This one in front of him was a demon. She looked so small and vulnerable but she was hard to kill. If he didn't kill her they would make him do what they wanted. He tried again to explode her brains but his power slid by her taking out a piece of decorative fencing instead.

"Stop that," she said impatiently. "Now, I need you to stretch out."

He lifted his arms pulling himself into the sky. Azazel chuckled derisively as he explored the abandoned graveyard.

"Not physically," she corrected. "Reach out with your power."

Sam wanted to, felt he'd explode if he didn't do something with all this energy bouncing around inside him, but she wanted him to so he didn't. He stood there and felt himself dissolving.

"If you do this, you might figure out a way to get around the wards I placed on you," she coaxed. "It could nullify our protections."

She was lying. Probably. Most likely, because that's what demons did.

However, if there was a chance he could kill her, kill them both and stop them, then he had to try. He stared at her and pushed his awareness out. His hands twitched, automatically drawing the sigils he would use if this were a normal casting. Except he didn't have words for this and hating Lilith wasn't enough.

"You call that power?" Azazel sneered.

Lilith shushed him. "He just needs to find a focus." Lilith smiled and clapped her hands like the little girl she hadn't been for millennia. "Dean is on the other side of the railroad. You can feel the railroad lines, can't you Sam?"

His eyes finally lifted from the blond creature in front of him to search the cemetery, the fields beyond and the trees beyond those. He could feel the iron surrounding them: iron behind them, iron in front; decorative fencing and statuary. Then there was the iron warded with sigils and magic. Some of the spell work seemed familiar and his mind leapt eagerly to "Dean!"

"That's right," Lilith agreed. "Dean's out there but he can't come in over the railroad lines. If you want to see Dean you'll have to dissolve the wards and break the metal."

His senses snapped tight. His blood pounded. His body heated. He needed to see Dean—Dean would help him kill Lilith and Azazel. Dean would help him not be a monster. The wards were keeping Dean from him?

Azazel had his hands out palms parallel to the ground, moving them like he was dousing water. "Lilith, something's not right."

"Hush, 'Zazel," She didn't move her eyes from Sam. Fingers snapped in his face. "Sam, focus! You can do this."

"Lilith!" Azazel demanded attention. "Something going on."

"Shut up!" she shouted back. "Sam, Dean is just beyond the metal and he's hurt. Bad. If you want to save him, you need to break through the metal."

It wasn't the iron that would be the problem, it was the ward wall. It was the most powerful warding he'd ever felt. It seemed to be in layers: top, middle, bottom. Old, human and… other. It would be tough but Sam was sure he could do it. In fact, it seemed like a great idea. He was so bloated with power that he felt ill with it, heavy and fizzy and off-balance. Blowing up the ward wall would drain that out of him and then he'd be okay again. Maybe. He closed his eyes, shutting out the sight of Lilith and her dead white eyes cheering him on.

The grass around him rippled and flattened. A couple nearby crosses creaked and fell over.

"Good boy, Sam!" Lilith bounced, clapping her hands. "Don't worry, 'Zazel. Sam'll blast through anything to get at his precious Dean."

Yes, Sam thought, he would.

From behind the crypt, seemingly drawn by Sam's desire, Dean popped out in front of them. "Hey Sammy." He moved rapidly away from the crypt, circling to the north and into Sam's field of vision. "You're going to be okay."

"How did he get here?"

Sam blinked… twice. It looked like Dean: jeans, T-shirt, button-up and jacket. Hair was a bit long, skin pale except around the eyes. His partner moved cautiously but he wasn't leaning or favoring one side or the other. He didn't look hurt. Certainly not close to dying like Lilith had said. Demons lie, he told himself. Maybe it was an illusion. "Dean?"

Azazel was flexing and Sam could feel his power, like pins scratching, flow out from him toward the distant lines of iron. It stirred up his own power, made him feel even more unstable. He focused on the image of his partner, anxiously waiting his reply.

"Yeah, Sam. It's me. Sorry it took me so long. Chicago was a real funky town."

It was Dean.

"Trap," Azazel announced. "Angels at the fucking gate!"

Angels, demons. Sam didn't care. "Dean," he begged. He felt like he was wearing his 14-year old self's clothes.

"I'm here Sammy." Dean took a couple careful steps north, not drawing closer, eyes flicking between Sam's escorts but always returning to Sam. "I'm here." Dean moved even more north while Azazel circled to the south, and Sam was in the middle: the pivot point.

"He's not real, Sam." Lilith said desperately. She grabbed his arm but Sam didn't want her touching him and he forced her to let go. "The real Dean is out there! He's hurt!" she shouted from the ground where she'd landed.

"You're hurt?" He tried to walk toward Dean but his limbs were so heavy.

"I was but I'm better. I'm… well, I'm okay. Alive. And you're alive so that's good."

"Isn't that touching," the yellow-eyed bastard sneered. "Pretty impressive, getting away from Alistair."

"Not that difficult. Demons aren't very imaginative. It's all blood, blood, blood, all the time."

"Funny," the demon's smile stayed but his voice took on a cutting edge. "That's all part of your MO, isn't it? Masks all that nasty pain, masks the truth."

"What truth is that? I'm awesome?" the hunter said. "Everybody already knows that."

"No," Lilith cut in. "That you're disposable." She lifted her hand and squeezed it into a fist. It was all theatrics, Sam knew. She didn't need to do anything to cast spells, but it was done so casually that it was all the more menacing.

In front of him, Dean groaned in pain and blood appeared in streaks across his chest. The tendons in his neck stood out in thick cords as he fought against whatever Lilith was doing to him.

"Break the metal rails, Sam," she said. "Or I'll kill him."

She was hurting Dean! He could feel the his heartbeat condensing until his whole body vibrated in time with it. He could feel the heat rise until his insides felt molten. He could feel the power within him like a thick tide filling him to overflowing. Releasing it might kill him but he didn't care as long as Lilith and Azazel died too.

"Good job, Lilith" Sam heard Azazel clap mockingly. "He'll do it for sure now."

"Sam, it's gonna be okay." Dean said before blood filled his mouth and turned the words into a bubbled garble.

"Now," John yelled, "Now, God damn it, NOW!"

The cemetery erupted.

From the corner of his eye, Sam saw a stranger slap his bloody hand on the iron pattern surrounding the crypt that Azazel had admired. His father was there, staring at his son—his real son—with desperate horror.

"NO!" Lilith raised her other hand but it was too late.

The metal flared red-white when it was touched but the light that poured out was ice-blue. It spread along the metal, tracing the symbols, colors changing and dancing like the Northern Lights. It encircled them, capturing them within its power. Power that hit with enough force to rock him on his feet and ripple his clothes. It ran over him, through him, freezing him, scouring him, ripping the muffling layer from his body. He felt a thousand pounds lighter and his mind was clearer than it had been since he'd first discovered how badly he'd been tricked.

Lilith's wards had been stripped away.

"NO!" Her voice was a screech of frustration and fury. She squeezed her fist and Dean screamed through the blood. It poured from his chest and he turned pale as the first snow on fall's dead grass.

It was instinct that had Sam reach out and clench his own fist. His only thought was that he had to stop her. Stop her hurting Dean before she killed him. It was habit that had him yelling "Stój!" but it worked and Lilith froze. "Uwolnij go" he ordered and her hand jumped and the fingers straightened, releasing Dean. Dean groaned, wavered and fell to his knees.

Azazel smiled. "Very impressive, Sammy. Go ahead and kill her. She deserves it, right?"

She did. She totally did.

"Sam. Sam, listen to me." Sam knew that voice too. It was John, the man who'd raised him. He flinched away, ashamed. He couldn't have known what he was raising; a monster he'd let into his family. "Sam, you can't kill her."

"Daddy Winchester. I'm surprised at you, turning up here." Azazel was smiling again. "Don't worry about Sammy there; he's one of ours and he likes killing."

"I know what he is. Doesn't change the fact he's my boy."

What? His fist loosened. He could hear Lilith drag in a rough, coughing breath but he didn't care. Dad… John… Dad. He knew? And he didn't care?

"John, John, John," the demon mocked. "You do know he's the reason all your friends got killed right?"

"You're the reason they got killed," John corrected flatly. "I've been looking for you for a long time."

The demon struck a pose, hand up, smile wide and fake. "You found me."

"And now I'm going to kill you."

"You're going to take me on?" Azazel laughed. "I took you for a lot of things, John, but suicidally reckless wasn't one of them." He flicked his hand and John was flung back, arcing over the cemetery as graceful as a child's thrown baseball.

There was a thunk when he landed and Sam could just see John's limp form crumpled at the base of a granite headstone. "No," he whispered. He stretched out his other hand.

"You really should kill Lilith before you take me on, champ," Azazel said and Sam hesitated. "Start a job; finish the job. Isn't that right?"

It was right.

"You bastard," Lilith gasped. She glared at her erst-while partner with hate filled eyes. If Sam hadn't been restraining her, it was possible she could've ignited him with hate alone.

Azazel laughed in mocking delight. "Lilith, my treacherous pal, it was always going to come down to you or me. You knew that. Kill her, Sam. You know you want to."

He did want to, because she'd hurt Dean. "Dean."

"Sammy. I'm okay."

He didn't sound okay and Sam's hand tightened on the demon he had leashed. Let's see if she liked it.

"Sam! You mustn't." He didn't know that voice. He ignored it, listening instead to the siren song of power and vengeance and the joy of being strong. The push of his power whispering 'use me'.

"Castiel. Well, well, well." Azazel chuckled. "Fancy meeting you here. It's like old home week or something."

"Azazel."

They knew each other? It was puzzling and Sam's attention wavered. Lilith panted.

"Last time I saw you, you were just a pup." Azazel mocked. The new guy didn't respond just moved away from the crypt. "Am I supposed to be scared now the angels have arrived?"

"Lucifer will not be freed."

Angels, Sam thought, Lucifer? Sam's focus slipped even more and he let Lilith fall forward.

She caught herself on her hands and looked up at him. "I'm surprised at you, Sam," she gasped. "You're a freak, a monster. You've got your chance at revenge and you're not gonna bite? That is honestly adorable."

Sam's anger rose once again and Lilith snapped upright. Her mouth opened in a silent scream.

"Your plan has failed," the new guy said to Azazel.

"Not yet it hasn't," Azazel grinned. "The boy wonder over there will kill Lilith—good riddance—and everything after that is inevitable. You are going to kill her, right Sammy?" he tossed over the angel's shoulder.

Sam's hackles rose at the nickname and Lilith flashed inside her borrowed skin.

"You have made an assumption." Castiel said calmly.

"Oh yeah? What's that?"

"You assume that only Sam can kill Lilith."

Azazel frowned. He whipped his gaze around to where his female partner was half suspended by Sam's power, pulsing with light. Sam looked too, and he saw John Winchester lift an oddly long revolver to her head and pull the trigger. She flashed and died, but not from Sam's power.

"That's for my family, you demonic bitch."

Wisps of her essence leaked from the hole as she died. Thin streamers of Dust that fell to the ground, despite the light breeze, and burned without scorching.

"Son of a bitch," Azazel cursed softly. The demon pulled and the gun was jerked from John's hand. He looked down at it. "What a pain in the ass this has been. If I could've found this thing even two years ago, things would be a lot different today."

Sam barely heard him. Lilith's sudden death had left nothing for him to grip onto. It made him unbalanced and he actually stumbled. She was gone. He couldn't kill her because she was gone. The realization threw him even more out of balance. There was nothing to use all this power on and he had to use it because he was close to exploding. He shouted his frustration and let go of his spell without regard to where the power would go, what it would do.

It wasn't fair!

"It's okay, Sammy. I've got you."