A/N: There's Death, Famine, War, and Pestilence. And now, the humble beginnings of the fifth horseman: the Bitchface of the Apocalypse. This is all SciFiNutTX's fault. I gotta give credit where credit is due.

Anddd....over four hundred reviews! Thank you!

Lastly, the usual disclaimer: I don't own Supernatural. This is for entertainment only, and not for profit.

Chapter 38

Lillith looks like hell.

"Dean loves me…"

She digs her claws into her eyelids, yanks out a clump of broken eyelashes and doesn't even flinch. The floor around her is littered with broken lashes and strips of pink, brown and peach colored human flesh.

Another eyelash yanked out. "He loves me not."

Her dark blue skin is dry and cracked. Her ears droop almost to her shoulders (she's been gnawing on the tips of them) and even her horns are chipped and broken. Alastair remembers how regal and imposing she looked the first time he ever laid eyes on her. Now she's just pitiful, as she cowers in the corner of her room and jumps at the slightest movement. She sees her death, all right, but she's hiding from it, and she'll continue to hide for the rest of her eternal life if Hell will let her.

Hell's not going to let her.

"Gaelen...Gaelen loves me…yes, he does…"

Ah well, Alastair thinks to himself. It's a shame when legends fall short like this. He's wearing a city employee now, one Albert Swanson, thirty years on the job, but after this ol' Albert will be in no condition to even care about his retirement. Albert was on his way to work this fine morning when Alastair surged out of the ground underneath his feet.

Swanson stopped screaming as soon as Alastair slipped inside.

"He…he loves me not…"

Lillith stares at the wire thin eyelash caught between her claws. She sniffs noisily, her face screws up, and large black tears roll down her face.

Disgusting, Alastair thinks.

Another eyelash jerked out.

"Dean loves me...he...he l-loves me n-not..." Lillith's mouth twists and trembles.

"Lillith?" he murmurs softly, soothingly. She jerks her head up, those white eyes of hers blinking wildly in every other direction until she focuses on him. Albert is an older man, skinny, with a kindly face and oversized ears. He looks harmless, and that's the whole point. Lillith's smile is sharp and jagged as she relaxes. Albert has brown eyes, not green or copper and gold.

"There now, m'lady. It's all right." He reaches out and gently pats her hand. She's skin and bone underneath that leathery hide. "Cook has prepared one of your favorite dishes."

Lillith eyes the bowl in Alastair's left hand warily. "It's a light dish." He lifts the spoon, and her nose wrinkles at the scent of sautéed baby flesh. "Newborn, right out of the pre-natal unit at St. Elizabeth's nearby. Just a few bites, then. Can you do that?"

"I could eat a little," Lillith whispers. Even her voice is scratchy. "Not a lot."

Alastair fakes a look of understanding and sympathy as she leans forward, meets his hand and the spoon halfway. She sucks the meat into her mouth and chews reflexively. " 's good."

"You don't have to eat it all." Alastair spoons out some more, pauses as he gives Lillith enough time to swallow. Her guard's completely down. There's newborn in there, but that's not all.

There's also a vair lopin, a rare form of demonic parasite that takes over its host from the inside out. You are what you eat.

"Can't eat anymore." Lillith frowns up after a few more spoonfuls. She burps.

'That's all right." Alastair nods. She's eaten enough. He leans forward and daintily wipes the flesh and bits of juice from around her mouth. "Better?"

Lillith nods.

"Good. Good." Lillith's eyes are already glazing over. Another hour or two and the vair lopin will be fully in control. "Your attendants are waiting for you," Alastair purrs. "Let's get you pretty again, hmm?"

"Well, well," Tiesen grins as Samirah and Dean fade in out of thin air into the courtyard. "Look what the cat dragged in."

Samirah walks along with her usual stately grace, then stops. Sam sits on the stairs between Ellen and Bobby. He stands up as Dean dismounts, stares at the black clothing and his brother with this intense stare that's a millisecond away from a bitchface: That better be you, Dean, and not Gaelen…

Dean walks up to him. Two feet away Dean's black cassock and greatcoat shifts into faded blue jeans with holes in the knees and battered brown leather. He wordlessly throws his arms around his brother and hugs him. Hard.

"D-Dean?" Sam sputters.

"Yeah. It's me." Dean's voice is muffled. He puts his nose into Sam's hair and he swears he can even smell that girly peach scented shampoo Sam used in his hair before he and Dad, before…

Dean closes his eyes, shakes his head a little to get rid of the seared flesh smell and smoky memory of Devil's Gate.

"Where's…where's Gaelen?"

"He's here too." Dean doesn't want to let go. Sam is warm again, gloriously warm, breath sounds and heartbeat and the hug goes on a little too long but Sam doesn't mind. Not one damn bit.

I did this, Dean thinks as Sam pats him on the back. Me.

Dean takes a deep breath, forces himself to breathe slow and deep.

Samirah rolls her eyes. You're doing it again, she mutters inside his head. Want me to come over there?

No. No, I'm good.

Chale snorts and Ellen shakes her head in disapproval. Rika obviously thinks the brotherly hug is the cutest thing she's seen in quite a while. Ajani, Ishmael, Actaeon and Samirah don't even try to pretend; they stand there as a group and stare at the brothers. Tiesen looks bored, and Bobby looks like he's right on the verge of saying something dry about "lady parts."

Tiesen clears his throat. "Our new brother can fight. A little."

Dean slowly pulls out of the hug first. He looks Sam up and down, checks for damage. Old habits die hard. Sam has some dirt on his chin and clothes, but no blood and, miracle of miracles, he still has all his limbs, fingers and toes.

"One of you?" Dean asks.

Chale says proudly, "All three of us."

Rika smirks. "I was first."

Sam stares at the ground and the tips of his ears blush red.

"Dude. She cleaned your clock?"

Sam casts a nervous sideways glance at Rika. "Uh, I don't hit girls."

Dean huffs in disbelief. "You don't? Since when?"

"Well, uh, she was little and then she grew big…." Sam's voice trails off.

"Huh. So she dusted your ass." Dean looks Sam up and down one more time. "Okay. We gotta talk about this. But I need to talk to Bobby first."

"Yeah, you do," the older man drawls. "Make it later, huh? Seems like you got a lot on your mind right now."

"Bobby, I don't…" Dean swallows past that lump in his throat. He's indirectly responsible for the destruction of this man's home and livelihood. He did that by asking Samirah to take him to Bobby's home when he was injured. Seems like everything he touches gets ripped up, burned or destroyed sooner or later. Finding out that he can bring life doesn't give Dean any comfort at all. There's a trick behind it. He doesn't trust it.

"Nothing I say is gonna make this any better, but…I'm sorry. I'm sorry about your place."

Sam frowns. "What about Bobby's place?"

"Go on now," Bobby rumbles. "We'll talk later."

Dean nods.

"Dean," Sam says earnestly, "Seriously, we gotta talk about what's going on. I want in on this fight."

Dean looks away, at the mountains off in the distance. Sam tenses up. He knows that look, it's stubborn yet somehow blank, the way Dean always looks when he's considering something he sure in the hell doesn't want to talk about.

"I don't want you going out there, Sam," Dean says slowly as he shakes his head. "I really don't. But I know you. I know you're not gonna listen to a damn word I say." Sam's unprepared for what happens next: Dean's right foot lashes out and kicks his legs out from underneath him.

Sam curses wordlessly. That side leg sweep must be some Horseman specialty; second time he's gotten nailed like that. He's still airborne as he feels the energy from Dean build up in the air all around him. When Sam lands on his ass the ground's gotten harder, rockier.

They're not in Kansas anymore, Toto. And they're not in the courtyard, either. They're up in the mountains now, away from the others, in a clearing surrounded by low hillsides.

Dean sighs as he looks around, then he looks down at his brother. "You're gonna have to show me what you got. "

It's like old times.

Sam can imagine John Winchester sitting on one of the rocks over there, watching his boys spar. They're not alone. Sam can sense the horses and Rika, Chale and Tiesen as they fade in with Bobby and Ellen. They settle in comfortably for the show at a safe distance.

Sam and Dean circle each other, and Sam knows it's all about controlling the space around him, inflicting as much damage as he can on his opponent and putting said bastard down permanently for the count. He's had that drilled into him so many times it's second nature.

"All right, Sam," John would drawl carelessly. "You gotta tighten it up. You're leaving yourself open."

Dean backs up as Sam presses him. Dean's motion is sure, smooth, as he blocks and parries and gets in a few well aimed hits of his own.

Rika seemed to flow in the air all around Sam; she was everywhere all at once. Chale was a brawler, pure and simple. Tiesen was a combination of the two, moving back and forth between each technique. Dean's fighting style is a combination of all three. He's always been able to improvise like a mad sonofabitch, able to think fast on his feet, adapt and change to whatever was thrown at him, and use whatever is at hand. He's a natural born melee fighter, and even when he was normal Dean was so good he was downright scary.

"Come on, Sam! Is that all you got?" Dean sounds angry. Dean's right hand, even though it's made of golden light, seems pretty damn solid. Sam's skin stings a little each time Dean hits him.

"Fine," Sam mutters to himself. He pushes himself a little harder. He's had four fights in about two hours time, and he's not tired, he's not even hungry, but whatever Dean is doing is beginning to piss Sam off. Dean's dressed in all black again, from head to toe, and that pisses Sam off too.

Another blow and Sam's skin prickles. Dean's eyes spark gold and copper; even the scars around his right eye catch and hold that glow. The others didn't use their abilities against him. So why the hell is Dean doing this?

"Stop it." Sam mutters.

Dean pays him no mind. He flicks his left hand towards Sam's chin, a glancing blow, and it stings, it burns enough to make Sam's eyes water.

"I said stop it."

"Why the hell should I?" Dean snaps. "You get in this fight, you can't ask some fug to play nice." Dean tags Sam again, this time with his right, and the pain is enough to make Sam's eyes water.

"I'm giving you a chance to step aside. A chance to stay out of this."

"You can't tell me what to do now," Sam gasps.

"You can't handle this." Dean's power builds in the air all around them, gold and copper energy rustling in the folds of Sam's clothing. Dean blocks the fist aimed at his face, fires back with several blows of his own that stagger Sam. "Quit being so damn stubborn and admit it!"

More blows.

"You got nothing, you hear me? Nothing!"

More pain.

"You can't handle this, Sammy. You can't."

Sam knows the exact moment when something inside him breaks open and rises free.

"SAMMY IS A CHUBBY FOUR YEAR OLD!" Sam roars. All around Sam and Dean rocks and boulders lift up and break into pieces. Sam's dimly aware that Tiesen, Rika and Chale have put up shields to protect Ellen and Bobby and the horses, but he's not focused on them.

"Shut up! Shut the hell up!" The cords in Sam's neck are so tightly strung he feels they're going to snap any moment. Something he can't identify rumbles underneath his skin, between his ears, powerful, just waiting for a chance to get out.

The wind picks up, and everything gets deadly quiet as the rocks and debris swirl in the air around Dean. Sam can't see his brother's face anymore, and that's when it hits him.

Dean kept poking him. Dean kept prodding him, and now…now he's…

Sam blinks. For a moment he's back in the closet at Max Miller's house.

Had to get to Dean. Dean's upstairs with Max Miller and his mother.

Sam remembers he groaned as he wrapped his mind around the cabinet, pleading silently with whoever was listening, oh please, please…

Dean lying dead on the floor upstairs with a bullet wound in his forehead, the wall behind him painted with blood and brains, and that image was enough, it was more than enough, Sam reached out with his mind, a small jerk, enough to move it, enough, he was surprised and startled, and a part of him, deep down inside, was pleased (MOREMOREMORE) but he didn't have time to think about it…

He has time to think about it now.

Dean. He did that for Dean, but this…this he's doing to Dean.

Sam feels horror and shame as he staggers backwards. He lands on his ass, braces himself with his left arm. He raises his right hand as the debris cloud around Dean thickens and rotates like a funnel.

"No," Sam says aloud."Dean! Dean!"

Sam raises his right arm, his fingers slightly hooked, clawlike, as he pleads with his power, coaxes it (notDean,please,don'thurthim,don't) and little by little the vibration in the air lessens. The rocks surge backward in a wave, crashing harmlessly to the ground in the clearing beyond. A dust cloud rises, then quickly dissipates.

"DEAN!"

Sam doesn't want to look.

But he does. He expects to see Dean lying on the ground broken, bruised and bloodied.

Dean stands there with both hands jammed into the pockets of his brown leather jacket. He rocks back and forth slightly on his heels and there isn't a scratch on him."Huh. So, that all you got?"

"Never had a doubt," Bobby mutters. "Idjits."

That's my boy, Samirah says proudly. She rises up on her hind legs and paws at the sky.

Tiesen claps. Chale makes a rude hooting sound, and Rika and Ellen high five each other.

"You're…you're okay?" Sam stammers. "I didn't…I didn't hurt you…"

Dean smirks at him. The expression's tinged with a little sadness, but it's still pure Dean. "Not even on your best day, little brother." He kneels and slaps the side of Sam's boot with his right hand.

"Not too shabby, Carrie." Dean turns, looks at the destruction around and behind them and nods. "Wouldn't want to piss you off at the prom." He puts up both hands chest high, palms out. "Gonna leave the bucket of pig blood at home this time. I promise."

Sam leans back on both elbows and laughs. "I…I did this." He feels all loose inside and well, giggly and somehow giddy.

"Yeah. You did." Dean stands up, reaches down with his right hand. "Let's try that again. You wanna get some control over it, so next time you don't even have to think about it. You shouldn't have to Hulk out each time."

Sam eyes the five fingered light show warily. "You gonna sting me again?"

Dean shrugs. "Not unless you got a kink for that kinda thing." He wiggles his fingers. "Come on. You wanna run with the big boys, you gotta earn it. Again, Sam."

Sam groans out loud as he puts his hand out and Dean pulls him up.

Pastor Jim Murphy realizes his mouth is hanging open.

Then he realizes who he's dealing with. These are the Winchesters, after all.

"Uh, Padre?" Mary whispers again. She shifts Castiel's weight on her shoulders. The angel is limp, unconscious, slung between John and Mary like a bag of groceries.

"Jim?" John grouses. "Sometime this year would be damn good." Tessa stands on the steps behind them and nervously glances up at the sky, and then the street.

"Oh. Of course." Jim steps aside as John and Mary hurry past with their burden.

"We would have taken him over to our place," John says, "but we're further uptown. Don't think dragging an unconscious angel through the streets of Heaven would play very well with the neighbors," John says with a grin. Pastor Jim closes the door behind them.

"In here." Tessa walks into the living room, picks out a blank wall. She turns to Pastor Jim with a smile and puts out her hand. "My name is Tessa."

Her handshake is firm, but what Jim picks up from her makes his eyes widen. "You're a Reaper."

"Yes I am. Do you have a Magic Marker? Something I could write with?"

Kitchen junk drawer. Some things never change, whether on earth or in Heaven.

"Thank you." Tessa uncaps the marker, draws a large sigil on the wall, a large triangle with circles at each point, and words that look like Latin drawn in the center of the triangle and through the center of the circles. Languages and symbols have always been Jim Murphy's passion: he's too engrossed in trying to decipher the meaning to even get upset that she's drawing on his wall.

"Okay." Tessa steps back, nods at John and Mary. "Hang him up there."

It works. Castiel is stuck to the wall like a fly stuck in flypaper. John gives a satisfied grunt as he steps back and surveys their handiwork.

Pastor Jim looks sad. "I sensed that things had changed, but I never thought it would come to all of this."

"I've…we've heard rumors. The Reapers…Everyone has. That God has left the building. That He's off on vacation, gone fishing." Tessa shrugs. "It depends who you talk to."

Pastor Jim smiles a little. "I prefer to believe otherwise." He nods towards Castiel. "This is God's will."

Mary frowns. "How do you figure that?"

"Well. If God didn't want any of this to happen, it wouldn't."

A/N: Not my usual evil cliffie, I know. Next post: Monday. Sam's training continues as he gets his very own apocahorse, and some other weird stuff happens.