A/N: Time in the Black Horse 'verse passes more slowly than it does in our reality. This is a continuation of the same day in the last chapter. Looks shifty-eyed. Yeah, riiight....

BTW: Sleipnir is Odin's six-legged stallion. "Just follow the screams" was first said by Jeff Goldblum in Jurassic Park: The Lost World.

Disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment and not for profit.

Not bad, Sam thinks to himself. I'm holding my own.

Well, Rika dusted the ground with him, but he went easy on her because Sam Winchester does not hit girls.

That's his story and he's stickin' to it.

Everyone in the courtyard's sitting (or in the case of the horses) standing around watching the show. Rika's back to being a little girl again. She sits on the stone steps next to Ellen and Bobby, all prim and proper, her eternal self neatly tucked behind that fresh faced little blonde girl façade.

Ajani nods his sleek, red head up and down briskly. Anyone want to bet on how long shaggy boy's gonna last?

Actaeon, Rika's white horse, snorts as she shakes her head from side to side. Her forelock falls down over her eyes, and she gives her head a one more shake. Better. Nope.

The big dappled grey horse rolls his eyes. You lost the last bet we had, anyway. Ishmael says. You should have known Sleipnir couldn't outrun Samirah.

Hmph, Ajani grouses. There was no harm done. I bet on her too.

Chale circles Sam, his broad face screwed up in a look of intense concentration. He's not as tall as Sam, but he's broader, way more muscular. They circle each other, and then they close, stand toe to toe for a moment, trading punches that make Sam's teeth and spine rattle. They block and slash at each other, and then step away and circle each other again.

Sam rolls his shoulders. He feels better about his chances now. Rikia was one thing, but Chale?

Huh. These folks are supposed to be invincible? Sam snorts to himself. They're over-rated. He winks at Ellen, and she shakes her head at him. Don't get cocky, boy.

Bobby rolls his eyes.

Sam backpedals, just as Chale throws a punch at him. Sam steps in, plants his elbow right in the Horseman's face. Chale's knees buckle, and his head rocks back.

Ellen flinches.

Sam smirks even wider, and he goes in for the knockdown. Chale grins, wide and cheerful, puts a hand up, catches Sam's fist easily in his palm. Sam's eyes go wide as he realizes that he's well and truly screwed.

Chale winks at him. Rika giggles.

Sam's jerked forward, off balance, as Chale sweeps his legs out from underneath him.

"Idjit," Bobby mutters.

Sam face plants into the ground.

Ajani huffs. Told ya.

Ishmael whickers. Well, duh.

Actaeon whinnies loud and long.

Sam sputters, spits out a mouthful. The courtyard dust is gritty and sandy, and he should be used to it by now.

Chale turns toward Tiesen and grins. "Boy's got some moves, I'll give him that. Your turn, brother."

Tiesen's smile is broad and cheerful, promising pain and all kinds of other things Sam would soon as well avoid. He cracks his knuckles as he steps forward. "Rise and shine, kidling. Let me show these two how it's done."

Sam lifts his head, puffs out a breath that ruffles his bangs and stirs dust up around his nose and mouth.

Crap.

I know this place, Dean thinks to himself.

The people all around him quietly clear a path for him with each slow, measured stride he takes forward. His greatcoat and cassock are blacker than the night sky above, blacker than the pitch dark possessing the crowd. They turn their black eyes away from the copper brightness of his eyes and his right hand. Straight ahead, past the metal railing, a fine thin spray of water fills the air, and beyond that water cascades effortlessly over brown rocks. A pillar of brilliant yellow and orange fire surges upwards, towards the sky.

The water's on fire.

Even the trapped souls inside the bodies quiet themselves when they see Dean. He's Other, no doubt about it. Even a blind person could sense it, from the too fluid way he moves, and the unnatural perfection of his face and form. The thin scars around his right eye pick up the golden glint of his right hand.

The ground underneath his feet trembles as he reaches the railing. He can feel the tremors through the soles of his boots. It's powerful, angry. It's been caged for far too long.

The last of the possessed ones step out of Dean's path, and he sees her.

Lillith is tall and slender this time, her blonde hair cut chin length. That silky red dress of hers hugs every curve; it dips very low in the back, stops just above the base of her spine.

"Hello, freak," Dean rumbles.

She doesn't move, doesn't react. Lillith leans against the railing, keeps her back to him, even though he knows she senses his presence.

Nothing about this entire scene is right. She should be running and screaming, but she's not. After what she did to him he should be kicking her scaly blue ass.

Dean puts his elbows on the railing as he looks around. The street behind him is quiet; no car sounds, no horns, not even the slight clicking of traffic lights as they switch from red to yellow, then green and back again. The entire city holds its breath. The possessed ones stand silently at his back. He glances at the palm trees, at the lighted buildings all around. A huge wooden boat floats serenely in the water yards away. It's ornate to the point of being gaudy; Dean half expects Johnny Depp as Captain Jack Sparrow to come striding out onto the deck.

Vegas. The bitch is in Las Vegas…

Dean gets it then. It's not a dream. It's a message. A vision.

The ground underneath his feet rumbles, stronger this time. Dean looks down at the lake surrounding the volcano. The water gurgles, rises up, bumps the underside of the dock. Another rumble, and Dean cocks his head to one side. He can almost make out the words this time.

Free…

The dark, frothy surface of the water boils up towards him. Large black eyes open up in the water, and the mouth underneath the eyes stretches open in a cavernous smile, tons of water swirling around .

Free me, the face rumbles, and Dean jerks back with a start as something soft touches his right ear, sends a shiver that climbs down his spine.

Wakey wakey.

"Rhonda," Dean mutters. "Quit it."

Who's Rhonda? He can hear the smile in her voice. The touch comes again, and he shudders with pleasure again.

"Rhonda Hurley." Dean sighs. Despite himself, he leans into the touch. "I really liked wearing her pink silk --- hey, wait a minute!"

Dean blinks. He's suddenly aware of the sun overhead, the large warm, body at his back.

Really? Pink silk what?

"I don't…Samirah?" Dean shudders again as Samirah lips at his earlobe with those incredibly flexible, velvet soft lips of hers.

He's a little confused at the moment, and then he realizes he's down. Sitting down with his back against the big black horse. She's sitting on the ground right behind him, her forelegs neatly folded. Samirah nudges the side of his face with her nose. Pink silk what?

"Uh, you don't need to know that," Dean says sheepishly.

The horse pricks her ears up. Pink silk. That was a scarf, right? You wore her scarf into battle?

"Uh…yeah. Right."

Samirah arches her neck and bats those long eyelashes at him. You're lying, she says smugly. I can always tell.

"How long have I been out?"

Ten minutes. You weren't feeling well.

"I wasn't?"

Nope. You started shaking in the saddle, so I stopped. You got off and sat right down. So what was that all about?

Dean huffs. "I think somebody just tapped me on the shoulder."

Who?

"Beats the hell outta me." Dean grins a little. "I know where Lillith will be. What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas."

I've never been to this Vegas.

"You'll like it. You'll see."

A dragonfly zips through the air right next to Dean's right ear. He looks around, wide-eyed, as Samirah nails Bug Boy with a lazy twitch of her tail. It suddenly dawns on him exactly where they are now. It's the same passageway that Sam, Dean and Samirah cut through before, the same place that Uriel hit Dean with the Spear of Destiny.

It was desert before. Most of the place is a jungle now.

Dean runs his fingers through the impossibly thick grass all around him. The trees nearby are young, not more than ten years old as far as growth goes. Tall grass sways gently in the breeze, clumps of wildflowers dot the landscape. Some of the blooms are purple, some are bright yellow.

The mountains in the distance are reddish brown, dusty, but this oasis is green and lush and teaming with life. A small, bright green lizard scurries after what looks like a grasshopper. Small brown birds flit busily through the air, with long strands of grass in their beaks. They're building a nest in that tree over there, and they chirp happily to themselves as they go about their business.

Three larger, darker birds wheel around high up in the sky overhead. Dean stares up at them, and he narrows his eyes as he realizes what they are.

Not birds. Angels.

One of them has dark curly hair and intense blue eyes.

Startled blue eyes lock onto steely green eyes.

Castiel, Dean growls under his breath. He doesn't recognize the other two. One is a small, petite black woman with close cropped brown hair. The other one is tall and blond, another male.

"Yeah, bitch," Dean mutters. "You better run."

Castiel and the other two blur into dark streaks on the far horizon.

There's my plucked chicken, Samirah purrs. Maybe he's looking for his raincoat.

Dean lets out the breath he didn't even know he was holding in as he looks around. "I did this."

Samirah nods solemnly. Yes, you did.

Dean lifts his hands, stares at them, the normal, flesh and blood left and the firefly right. He flexes his fingers, and the golden glow of his right hand shimmers.

"Those dead horses…" Dean breathes. At least, he tries to. The air is too heavy for him to pull into his lungs. This is big. Too damn big. "That wasn't the angels. That was…that was me…"

Uh huh.

He remembers hugging Sam, and he had to be careful not to show his sorrow when they pulled away from each other. Sam didn't have a heartbeat. No breathsounds. Nothing.

Sam was a spirit.

I have a brother, Gaelen whispers happily in Dean's memory.

Sam.

Sam was dead and now he's alive again…

Dean gulps in air, and it's no good. He spreads his knees, rests his hands on top of them as he leans forward. Can't catch my breath, he thinks muzzily, I can't…

Not again. Eugene's not even here.

"His name's Bobby," Dean gasps.

Whatever. Samirah shakes her head as she gets to her feet in one smooth motion. I still say you humans have way too many names.

She pushes her smooth nose into the space between Dean's shoulder blades, makes him lean forward. Head down. Breathe. Breathe. You're doing it again.

"Doing…doing what?"

Thinking too much.

"How the hell can you be so damn calm about this?"

Samirah looks puzzled, as though she doesn't quite understand the question. Someone has to be.

"You ever heard of anything like this before?"

No. But why not?

Dean frowns at her.

Samirah's voice is calm, as though she's explaining something complicated to a foal. Rika is Famine and Abundance. Tiesen wields War, and Peace. Chale is Pestilence and Healing. You? Death and Life. Never happened before. She rests her chin on Dean's left shoulder and tilts her head towards him, ears pricked. Doesn't mean it could never happen. You found what you were looking for. It was inside you all along.

It would be a mistake to think that Samirah is limited in her intelligence. She's not. She accepts this in the same way she accepted Dean being changed by the Colt. It's not pretense, and she's not being coy or flip. She accepts it all, and that's that.

The only thing she ever had trouble accepting was Dean leaving her.

They stare at each other for a long moment. Dean sees himself reflected in her large reddish gold eyes. Damn, I'm an idiot, he thinks to himself.

He's up on his feet in another second, swinging into the saddle right after that, but not before he rubs that space between Samirah's eyes and kisses her on the nose.

Samirah squawks, surprised and pleased. She shivers all over, in a good way, and Dean pretends not to notice.

The stone bench near the fountain is one of their favorite spots. Mary rests her head on John's shoulder as she snuggles into his side.

More things change, the more they stay the same, John thinks. He's had that prickly feeling all the time now, the hair at the back of his neck rising up in warning. His hackles are raised up here, just like they were down below, whenever he'd go into some small town on a job. Small towns had secrets, usually bad ones. John sees the way the angels look at him, Mary, Jim Murphy, Caleb and the Campbells. According to Pastor Jim, it's gotten worse lately. Started about a year ago.

Mary senses it. They all do. There's no news about Sam. Not even Pastor Jim could find out exactly where the boy had gotten to. Ask one of the feathered fucks and they smile politely (and that smile doesn't reach their eyes, oh no) and lie. "We'll get back with you."

Sure they will.

And to top it off, mention the name Dean Winchester and it's like saying the name of the Devil himself.

"Friend of yours?" Mary says softly. John grunts, roused from his memories. He immediately feels vaguely guilty about that. They've been separated for so damn long, now he doesn't want to waste another second. "Who?"

"Her. Is she someone you met on a hunt?" Mary nods towards the young woman standing nervously several feet away.

John looks. "I don't think so."

She's tall, slender, with shoulder length dark hair, dressed in blue jeans, a red top, and a short black leather jacket. She doesn't have wings and John realizes that she looks like that actress, the one Dean had a crush on a while back. John struggles to recall the name as she walks towards them, a slight smile on her face.

Meg Tilly. Yep, that was the woman's name.

"Hi." Her smile widens a little. Mary straightens up, and it's no accident that she scoots a little closer to John, while she holds on his arm. The young woman nods slightly. She gets the message: He's mine, girl. Always has been, always will be.

Crap, John thinks to himself. He does have the feeling he's seen her before, but he can't figure out where. She's a real looker, no denying that. Maybe she was an ER nurse somewhere?

"Mr. and Mrs. Winchester?" Mary relaxes her grip, just slightly. Thank God, John thinks.

"Ah, my name is Tessa. I'm a friend of your son, Dean."

She doesn't stand close enough to shake hands, and John wonders why at first.

"I've known him for a long time. I never had the pleasure of meeting your other son, Sam, but I think you should know that he's okay. They both are."

John sounds calm, but he's anything but. "Where's Sam?"

The brunette shrugs. "They don't know," she says, and with that slight emphasis John and Mary get it. There are probably ears all around. "He's safe. He's with Dean."

Mary nods.

"I just want you to know that if you need anything, anything at all, please let me know."

"Where did you two meet?" Mary says quietly.

"Ah, in the hospital." Tessa locks eyes with John. "After the crash."

John's eyes widen, and Tessa smiles. She nods as she turns away, and the fact that she fades out from view after a few feet doesn't bother Mary. This is Heaven, after all.

Mary leans against John again, and smiles a little. "She seems nice."

John looks dazed. "Dean almost died after the crash."

"You told me that."

"He kept saying that he couldn't remember everything, but there was a dark haired woman dressed in white. She asked him if he wanted to stay or go."

Mary shrugs. "Angel."

"No. I don't think so." John's eyes narrow as he stares at the last place Tessa stood. "Reaper."

Just follow the screams, Dean thinks, so he and Samirah do.

Cars are scattered all around the road in a rough circle, and the critter standing in the middle of the mess is about twelve feet tall, man shaped, obscenely muscular. Its bald head and face is the most human thing about it. The rest is a nightmare, and Dean knows if it hurts his eyes to look at it, then a normal human would be struck dumb by it. Four arms and two legs, and that's not even the worst of it. Its dark yellow skin is mapped with thick ropy veins, and the look in those black eyes is murderously gleeful. It looks around and smiles. "All flesh. All mine." It sounds happy. "You stay here. Mine now."

That voice doesn't sound right. Samirah pins her ears back against her head, and Dean feels his eardrums throb at the sound. Nobody makes a break for it, no one tries to drive away, and they both know why.

It's mesmerizing the people with its voice. They don't run. They can't.

"So much meat," it croons to them. "Stay there. Stay ---"

The thing steps towards this station wagon just as Samirah stops short of the ring of cars. She could run right over them if she wanted, but Dean doesn't want her to. It's too close quarters in there.

I got this, he tells her silently and he's out of the saddle in a heartbeat. He lands on the hood of the cars and takes off running.

The fugly's head jerks around. The rear door to the station wagon is ripped off in one quick jerk. The family inside (Mom, Dad, and three young kids inside) scream and backpedal into their seats. There's no other place for them to go.

"Hey!"

Dean stands a few feet away, in the truck bed of a big silver pick-up. The demon looks him up and down and licks its long grey tongue out over jagged teeth. Slime drips onto the pavement from the corners of its mouth and concrete sizzles where ever the droplets land.

"Hero," the thing mutters to itself. "Hero flesh."

"Damn, will you shut the hell up!" Dean yells. Every word makes his head throb. Big Ugly jumps up on the hood of the truck in a heartbeat, then it's standing in the truck bed with Dean less than a second later. It's dumb enough, or confident enough to lean down to take a closer look at him. When Dean puts his right hand around its throat the thing actually laughs.

"Pretty meat…pretty lights…"

The scars around Dean's right eye flare up, as does his right hand, and the critter's skin immediately goes slick and transparent, lit up from the inside out with pale golden light.

The demon's mouth gapes open, and the breath that comes out is unbelievably foul: sulfur, dried blood and rotten meat. It screams at him, and Dean flinches as the sound tears at his skin. His black cassock tears, the hem of his black greatcoat rips into long tatters, snapping in the foul wind blasting from the thing's mouth.

The leather and fabric covering his right arm dissolves into the air, and so does the flesh of Dean's arm. There's a flash of white arm bone, from his wrist to his shoulder, exposed to the air. glowing softly, and the copper and gold energy inside Dean's body curls up into the air as he leans into the thing, bearing down on it with everything he has. Dean pours the Colt's power into the thing (Come on, you sonofabitch, come on and die already), pours Death into it as his eyes blaze copper bright.

Moments later the demon staggers backwards, blinking at Dean in blank amazement. Its lips move for the final time: "Not supposed to die. Not me. You."

The demon's body dissipates into thin dead wisps of grey and white smoke.

"Yeah, I get that a lot lately," Dean mutters as he steps back. His skin deals in seconds, as does the rips in his clothing.

Samirah paces restlessly around the outer ring of cars. She makes one more pass and Dean mounts up again as she passes by.

Idiot thing, Samirah mutters to herself as she heads for the shoulder of the road.

The humans sit in their cars dazed and confused. It takes about five minutes or so for them to start moving again. Samirah and Dean are a blank spot in their perception, and that's just as well. Everyone will have their own version of what happened. Everyone's alive, they're all okay, and that's the only thing Dean really cares about, but that demon thing never should have seen the light of day. The fact that it felt bold enough to come out is worrisome.

The weirdness continues.

Something crouches on the roof of a large white moving van parked just behind the tangle of cars. The driver doesn't seem to be aware of this thing. Delivery dude sits there idly drumming his fingers on the steering wheel while he waits for traffic to start moving again. Dean has no doubt that if he saw what was on his truck the man would run screaming down the road.

The skin is dark brown, smooth, and leathery. This one looks like a giant bat. There's a suggestion of a bump where its nose would be. It doesn't have any eyes, but it tilts its head as it stares at horse and rider. The ears are long and ridiculous looking, like the antenna of a moth, but Dean doesn't laugh. He stares at it instead, stares at the thick, wavy blonde hair that covers its back. A long spiked tail whips idly back and forth, and those massive leathery wings are half unfurled.

Another one. Huh. Samirah snorts as she dances in place, still excited from all the commotion. Judging by the way she paws the ground with her left foreleg it's obvious that she thinks stomping the hell out of this one would be a mighty fine idea.

The thing's voice is a surprise: quiet, calm, almost cultured. "Horseman, are you going to end it all?"

"End it all?"

Bat boy gestures at the scene around them. It has three clawed fingers on each hand. "This dominion. This Earth."

Dean glares at it. "Hell no."

The thing smiles tightly. "Good." It leaps straight up. Those massive wings stroke once through the air. Gone.

Different kind of pigeon, Samirah huffs.

Dean picks up the reins, and the black horse turns for home.

Bastards, Tessa thinks to herself. They fade into view on the street all around her now. At one point, back when she was young and just starting out, she would have bowed her head in reverence to them. Not any more. She's been out here too long and she's seen too much.

"Castiel," Tessa nods. She stares at the other angel, a tall brown haired male. She doesn't know him.

"Tessa," Castiel smiles back. He's on her in a heartbeat, his hand around her throat. Her back slams into the pavement and he tightens his grip as his wings rise up and mantle them both.

"Dean and Sam Winchester," Castiel murmurs softly. "Do you know exactly where they are, reaper?"

"Get your damn hands off me. You can't do this!" Tessa fights the rising tide of panic inside her. So much has changed. Things are clearly not what they used to be in Heaven.

"Things have changed." Castiel tilts his head to one side. "I can do whatever I want to."

White light pours into Tessa's skin. Castiel smiles as she thrashes around underneath him.

His smile gets even wider as she finally arches her back and screams.

"Hey!" someone roars from behind. Castiel is jerked to his feet and spun around.

He goes cross-eyed as John Winchester plants his fist in his face. Twice.

The other angel turns around.

"Going somewhere?" Mary Winchester says sweetly.

It's a joke, really. He actually laughs as he walks towards her. He spreads his wings behind him to intimidate her, and Mary rolls her eyes. Big whoop.

She plants her foot on his instep, and the pain is white hot and blinding. He yelps in surprise. Mary grabs him by the balls and gives a really hard squeeze. The angel makes a choking noise as he crumples to the pavement, his wings twitching and quivering around his body.

"Well. Imagine that," John smirks. He tightens his grip on Castiel's collar. "And to think I heard you boys were dickless wonders."

"You can't do this!" Castiel snarls though the blood on his face.

Tessa lies there on the ground in amazement. John and Mary should not have been able to do that. She hesitates as Mary walks up, smiling, and helps her to her feet.

"Well, like you said, things up here have changed. Let's go, Cassie, Casper, whatever the hell your name is." John drawls as he yanks the angel up roughly. "We need to talk."

Chapter 38 to be posted next week.