A/N: My sincerest apologies for the wait, I struggled a bit with this chapter and then real life took off like you wouldn't believe. Hopefully this was worth the wait?

Chapter nineteen

When Sam slowly opened his eyes he was in an unfamiliar hotel room, the bed felt soft underneath him but as a cacophony of bruises and other injuries began to make themselves known, he began to regret being able to feel his body again pretty quickly.

"Hey handsome. How ya doing?" A sultry voice drew his attention to the woman standing next to his bed with Bobby and John stood over each shoulder.

"I'll be fine," he said and with an effort, he pushed himself up to sit facing them. Once he was upright, he was confronted with a glass of water uncomfortably close to his face.

"Drink," demanded the unfamiliar woman, "you must be dehydrated."

"Thanks... Pamela, right?" Replied Sam, receiving a nod in turn from Pamela. He took the glass and had to force himself to take sips instead of guzzling the whole thing in one go as his thirst flared up in the back of his throat. He glanced around the room quickly, it was nicer than the disreputable motels he was used to staying in, and someone had rescued his bag from Dean's car and put it on the floor next to his bed.

"How you doing Dean?" Pamela called over Sam's head.

"I would appreciate it if I never had to do that again," Dean groaned from behind Sam, "Dude your head is messed up. I think I may be legitimately traumatised."

Bobby rolled his eyes at Dean's complaints, "It's good to see you back with us, son." He said to Sam, "Now, I can't imagine you've getting three square meals a day lately?"

Sam shook his head, hands fisting the sheet in his lap of their own accord.

"Right, let's get some food in you then, me and John can go to the pizza place down the street." Bobby asserted and moved towards the door, beckoning to John as he went.

"That sounds awesome. Can you grab me some beers as well? I did just save the day." Bargained Dean before they could get out the door.

"I wouldn't say no to a beer either, what about you Sammy?" Added Pamela with a smirk that seemed a little predatorial to Sam.

Bobby saved him from answering. "I think we could all do with a beer." Said Bobby, then he turned to Pamela, "You make sure there's no lasting damage and we'll make sure to pick up a case of beers on the way back."

Pamela nodded but Bobby was already out the door with John following closely behind. Once the door closed she turned back to Sam, "Don't worry hon, this won't take long."

She put her hand on Sam's forehead and closed her eyes in concentration. Sam couldn't take his eyes off her as he waited hear if Azazel had screwed him up even further. She was still and silent long enough for Sam to grow concerned but when she finally opened her eyes her expression softened into a wry smile.

"Well I'd say you were lucky, but you have to be pretty unlucky to piss off a demon that powerful." She commented, taking her hand away from his forehead and grazed his jaw affectionately with her fingers as her hand fell back to her side.

"So it worked, then? I didn't do all that for nothing?" Dean asked.

"Nope, Sam's got the all clear." Pamela replied happily, "not a drop of evil in that big floppy head of yours."

"Thanks," Sam smiled gratefully at her, even if it was a bit wobbly.

"Don't mention it, no one deserves to be trapped in their worst memories," Pamela's tone went from casual to low and earnest, "especially good people who have been screwed over by life too many times."

Pamela left Sam to contemplate her words as she turned away and started packing her things into a bag, only for his thoughts to be interrupted by Dean expressing his excitement from the bed behind Sam, "We get to celebrate tonight!"

The thought of celebrating made Sam feel hollow, how could he celebrate when Jess had died? "You guys can go ahead, I'm feeling strangely tired. I think I'll just have a shower and grab some food and then I'll have a nap."

"Well, being demonically trapped in your own worst memories isn't the same as getting proper sleep, so I guess that makes sense." Pamela said with a touch of sympathy, but not overly concerned.

Sam nodded and ripped into his bag for a much needed change of clothes and hurried to the bathroom before anyone said anything else. When he finally stepped under the spray, he wallowed motionless for a few minutes. The warmth of the steam was little comfort compared to the solitude that he was doubtful he was going to find in steady supply over the next few days at least.

He just needed some time on his own so he could grieve.

As soon as he could manage, but before he was really ready, he swiped a hand ineffectually down his face and then proceeded scrub off the grime of the last five days. Yes, he supposed it had been five days since he last had a shower. The very thought disgusted him and he took extra care as he washed.

Feeling at least clean even if he wasn't really feeling any better in any other aspect, Sam got out the shower and got dressed. He caught sight of his face in the mirror as he pulled his t-shirt over his head and grimaced at the mottled swelling covering one half of his face. He leaned closer to the mirror and prodded his cheek experimentally, after realising the damage was superficial he decided he had bigger things to worry about than a bit of bruising.

When Sam pushed the door open he stopped short as he was pinned by four pairs of concerned eyes. Bobby and John had returned while he had been in the shower and everyone had been busy gathered around several pizza boxes which lay open on the table and a case of beer, dividing the food between everyone.

Great.

Sam dropped his gaze to the pizza and hurried towards the table, he had gone past ravenous two days ago; he wasn't entirely certain which stage of starving he was currently in but he was pretty sure eating was a good idea. He accepted a beer from Bobby as he piled a few slices of pizza on a napkin and took a seat on the bed. His choice of seat worked in his favour as, after finishing his pizza and half the bottle of beer, he fell asleep.

The bed underneath Sam still felt odd in its softness even for the second time Sam woke up in it. He tried to think back to the previous night but his head hadn't been screwed on right and he could barely remember anything after sitting down with his pizza.

It was clearly late morning as the sun was streaming through the window at a steep angle behind Bobby who was sat at the table reading from a newspaper with a cup of coffee at his elbow. He let a corner of his newspaper fall inward so he could observe as Sam pushed himself upright.

"I'm guessing that gang didn't let you sleep much either," Bobby hazarded with a raised eyebrow but a soft look in his eye. At Sam's questioning glance he expanded, "you slept for nearly thirteen hours."

"Really? I slept that long?" Sam asked, he certainly didn't feel like he had.

Bobby shrugged and said easily, "you must have needed it." He nudged a bagel across the table towards Sam, "you could probably stand to get some more food in you too."

Sam agreed but was sluggish as he moved towards the table. He saw Bobby watching him out of the corner of his eye as he took a seat and began picking at the bagel in front of him.

"I'm sorry about Jess," Bobby said when, after ten minutes Sam had only managed to eat not even a quarter of his food.

Sam dropped the piece that was between his fingers onto the paper plate. He bit his lip in an effort to keep his tears at bay, fixing his watery stare unseeingly on the remains of his breakfast. He could hear the sharp rustling of Bobby folding his paper and setting it aside and the shifting in his seat as he turned bodily to face Sam and leant his elbows on the table.

"I can see why you liked her so much, and if it's any comfort, she seemed pretty enamoured with you too."

"I wish she hadn't." Sam croaked, "She chose me, she said she loved me and now she's dead because of me."

Bobby levelled his gaze at Sam, "you really loved her, didn't you?"

Sam lost the battle with his tears as he nodded, "I should never have talked to her. I should have told her from the beginning what I was, she would have been scared away and she'd still be alive. Azazel should've killed me instead, I'm the one who deserves to die."

Bobby huffed and a dark look crossed his face. "Mary's been dead for nearly three years and somehow I can still hear her voice," he said drily, "your mom was wrong, Sam. She was wrong then, and you're wrong now."

"How do you know? how do you know you're not wrong and mom was right all along?" Sam asked a little desperately.

Bobby sighed, "Because I'm not the only one who thinks she's wrong. You know quite a lot of hunters, got to know them on hunts, how many of them do you think would let you live if they thought you were evil? Pamela was rummaging around in your mind top to bottom and she didn't find any evil in you - and it takes a lot to pull a fast one on her.

"Jess seemed like she had a good head on her shoulders, she knew what she was doing when she chose you; do her the honour of remembering that... But first, eat that bagel," said Bobby with a smirk, clapping a hand on Sam's shoulder.

Sam smiled gratefully and found he could stomach the food a little easier this time. Not long after he began to eat, Bobby's phone rang.

"Caleb!" He cursed as he fumbled with his phone, "How in the holy hell is that idjit still alive?" He muttered as he walked outside to take the call.

Sam smirked, it wasn't any lack of skill or know-how on Caleb's part that predisposed him to be in more dangerous situations than strictly necessary, it was more his hot-headedness and lack of patience. "Tell Caleb that outsourcing his research costs a hundred bucks a hunt now." Sam called after Bobby, receiving just a wave in acknowledgement.

Seconds after Bobby had left, Dean walked through the door. "Hey! Sleeping beauty is finally awake!" He enthused.

"Someone's feeling cheerful," Sam commented.

"I went back to Pamela's room last night and let me tell you Sam, it was an education. Probably the only education I'll ever be glad of." Dean replied cheerfully as he sat down across the table from Sam.

Dean opened his mouth to speak again, but fearing that he would try to enlighten Sam with all the sordid details Sam cut him off, "Please, for the love of god, stop there."

Dean rolled his eyes, and drummed his fingers on his thighs for a couple of beats while Sam focused on finishing his breakfast. "Anyway," Dean began again, "Pamela left a couple of hours ago. Me and dad came round to see how you were earlier, but you were still out."

"John came to see me?" Sam was still confused about why John was even within twenty feet of him, "Where is he now?"

Dean shrugged, "I dunno, but wherever he's got to, I hope he don't cross paths with Bobby again." He muttered.

"What do you mean?" Sam asked curiously. He dusted his fingers off over his empty plate as he finished his bagel and leaned forward intently, frowning in confusion mainly but there was a sliver of concern too.

Dean chewed the inside of his mouth for a moment. "They just don't get along," he said finally. "I mean, they haven't come to blows yet, but it's only a matter of time if you ask me. Especially if last night was anything to go by."

"What happened last night?"

"Nothing really happened. Just dad was being a bit of an asshole, mainly towards Bobby and I don't think Bobby appreciated it all that much. I think dad's jealous of him."

"Jealous?" Sam scoffed "Of what?"

"Of you. Of how Bobby got to see you grow up and he couldn't."

Sam waited for some sort of punchline but Dean's face remained devoid of any hint of amusement or sarcasm, "C'mon Dean, be serious. He didn't even wanna know me the last time he saw me."

"Yeah well, apparently Winchesters don't react well to the supernatural. We managed to talk some sense into him, in fact it was actually Bobby who convinced him. Seriously though in just a few days he met demons for the first time, he met you and now he's met Bobby and it's pretty clear you're like a son to him... I think it's just hitting him what he's missed out on."

"But it wasn't his fault, he must know that right?"

"I'm sure he does, but John Winchester has never been the most logical man. He's more of a shoot first, ask questions later type... Must be where I get it from." Dean mused.

As they both lapsed into silence, Sam began chewing his thumbnail. What was he supposed to do now? How was he supposed to carry on? For so many years had simply focused on surviving and getting to college, it had been all he could do, his only motivation. And when he finally got to college, Jess had taught him how to stop surviving and to start living... And now there was no college and no Jess. How could he go back now? How could he face their friends again after what had happened? And what about Jess' parents? He had only met them once...

"What happened to Jess?" Sam asked.

Dean looked uncomfortable, "We phoned in a tip to the police. We had to leave her there, the Flaming Arrows were freaking out and you were in some weird, freaky coma. We didn't know what had happened to you."

None of what Dean had said made Sam feel any better, although he doubted anything Dean said short of: Azazel tricked you, she's actually alive, look! Would make him feel any better. However muddled he might feel about everything else, he knew with absolute certainty that Jess deserved better.

He pushed himself abruptly to stand, he swept the paper plate into the bin as he marched over to his bag and started rifling through it.

"Sam, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to shower and then get dressed," Sam replied curtly.

"And then what?"

"I don't know-"

"Sam do you really think it's a good idea to go storming off right now?"

"I'm not storming off."

"Really? 'Cause it kinda looks like you are."

"I'm not." Sam argued for the final time before shutting himself in the bathroom.

If Sam was hoping that a shower would wash away his rage, he was disappointed. Although his anger was no longer boiling tumultuously just below the surface, it was still very much present, it had simply transformed into glowing embers smouldering deep within his chest.

When he left the bathroom, he had irrevocably settled on vengeance. Azazel had taken too much from him and in the process had hurt or killed so many people. It had to end.

He schooled his face into an expression of calm as he came face to face with Dean and Bobby. Dean made some falsely cheerful attempts at conversation but Sam just brushed them off. He made a show of fetching his wallet while covertly stashing his knife and his gun about his person, giving the excuse that he was just stepping out for some coffee.

"Sam?" Bobby asked sternly, half stepping infront of him as he made for the door.

Sam knew he would never get a lie past Bobby in the state he was in so decided to go with a truth. "I just need a little space."

Bobby looked searchingly at Sam for a moment before nodding with some reluctance and letting him past.

As soon as Sam was out of sight of the motel, he found a quiet street making sure that no one had tried to keep an eye one him, and stole the first car he saw.

His plan was simple as it was vague: drive back to his college dorm, grab the small cache of hunting weapons he had kept hidden there and track the demon down and kill him. He would have to figure out just how in the hell he was gonna do that, the colt had been his and his mom's ace in the hole but it hadn't been enough... And now it was a recurring theme in his nightmares.

Now that his strategy - in the loosest sense of the word - had been formed, all that was left now was to execute it... And work out some of those pesky but vital details.

He could feel himself easily falling back into old habits, into that old mindset of forcing himself to push everything else aside - whether it was one of his mom's vitriolic rants, or he was sleep deprived and starving in the freezing cold or the blistering sun - and focusing on the hunt.

He sped down the highway keeping his stops minimal and for essential reasons only. When he stopped for the night he tossed his phone on the bed and felt guilty for a second about having turned the device off, but the voicemail had had received from Dean earlier once he had realised Sam wasn't coming back had made the move a necessity.

Dean had given him one headache after another since their first meeting, Sam needed to kill Azazel and he didn't need an overconfident amateur putting himself at risk and getting in the way. If Sam had his way, no one else would get hurt on his account.

And if Sam couldn't kill Azazel, then at least he could ensure that he couldn't be used to hurt anyone else.

He went to sleep shortly after eating some dinner and awoke early to get back to his dorm room by the end of the day.

Walking up the stairs and arriving outside his door held a strangely surreal quality for Sam; the shapes, colours, smells... They were all the same as he remembered, but they meant something different now. It had only been a little over two weeks everything had changed, he had changed. He had never really understood when people said that something felt like a lifetime ago, but now he did; they weren't talking about a lifetime of the body, they were talking about a lifetime of the soul.

Sam had to pick the lock to get back into his room but he wasn't seriously impeded. Walking back into his old room certainly was like walking into a past life; he had managed to accumulate things, things which had no use or value beyond what they meant to Sam. It was amazing how much he had collected without even trying, when before it had been all he could do to hold on to his grades as he transferred over and over again.

He felt grief for Jess and his old life threaten to rise up and overwhelm him again.

He pushed the violently swelling emotions away and collected his old gun with its customised ammunition and demon killing knife, his laptop and few changes of clothes. He could've just stayed in his old bed, but his grip on his emotions was tenuous enough as it was, certainly the longer he stayed the harder it would be to resist the temptation to stay and simply mourn.

He had almost finished packing when he looked up and saw his mug upside down on the draining board. It wasn't anything fancy, it was plain white with a quote on the side saying: a yawn is like a scream for coffee, but Jess had given it to him the first Christmas he had been at college, and it had been the first time anyone had gifted him something that couldn't be used for hunting. He had loved it instantly.

He slowly made his way over to it and picked the gift up, gingerly turning it over in his hands. It was such a simple thing, but he had had a revelation upon receiving it. It had meant that someone believed he could be more than just a hunter, more than just a footsoldier in the war on monsters, more than just a freak who had to constantly work to redeem himself from the sin of having demon blood inside him.

How wrong I was, he thought bitterly, as long as Azazel is still alive I'll never be free from my sins.

Sam didn't know how long he stood warring with himself over the mug before he heard the door - which he had left slightly ajar in order to aid a swift and silent retreat - be pushed open and a familiar voice call out.

"Hey, Sam I didn't realise you were back! How was the family emergency?" Brady asked in his unshakable carefree way as he stepped into the room with an excited smile. He didn't even give Sam time respond before he was talking again, "Anyway, I'm glad you're back. I need a wingman for tonight, one of the sororities is hosting a party and Jason is always too busy trying to get himself laid to be a proper wingman. Not like you, you're too hung up on Jess to even notice any other girl matter how sexy or how flirty... "

Brady faltered and trailed off in his speech. Sam must have looked how he felt because Brady was looking at him with concern - and Brady didn't really do concerned. In short, Sam felt like he'd been sucker punched, by the Hulk.

"Dude, what is it?"

Sam closed his eyes and took a moment to edge back from the waterfall his emotions were threatening to go over. "Jess is... She's dead." He forced out eventually.

"Shit!" exclaimed Brady as he began shifting uncomfortably and wiped a hand down his face, "Man, I'm so sorry," he continued taking a step closer to Sam.

Sam took a step back, holding a hand up. Brady was a fan of the bro hug, but Sam didn't have the strength to survive one of those in his current state. "I don't think I'm really up for partying right now."

"N-no, of course not," Brady back-pedaled, "I don't have to go to this party if you want some company..."

Sam shook his head, "I think I'd like to be alone right now, just for a little while at least."

"Yeah, sure. Whatever you need." Brady conceded and turned for the door. But before he exited he turned back to Sam, "just don't do anything stupid, you hear. There are numbers you can call, and you have friends here too..."

Sam felt a little spark of warmth in his chest that wasn't anger and couldn't help but the twitch that lifted the corner of his mouth into a half smile. "Thanks," He said, never having meant the word as fervently as he did in that moment, "but I'll be fine. I just need a little space, you know?"

Brady nodded in understanding and a rare moment of emotional maturity, and left Sam to his mourning. Sam sighed and placed the mug on the counter, there would no more room form sentimentality. He could no longer afford any softness, any weakness. He just wished it were that easy, that he were able to rip out his heart and leave it next to the mug as he left.

He definitely felt like he was leaving something behind with that momento, something vital, but not his heart. He wouldn't be able to feel it so badly it was his heart.

Unable to completely shed his feelings, he left all other vestiges of his old life behind, it was more than he had deserved anyway. But sorrow rose inside him with the inevitability of the tide and Sam felt tears begin to leak through anyway. He desperately clung to his mask of calm until he had tucked himself away in his stolen car and felt himself crumble, resting his forehead on his knuckles as he tightly squeezed the steering wheel and letting himself weep as he knew no amount of effort on his part would stem the flow with any sort of effectiveness. He was victim to the tsunami of his feelings for close to an hour before finally reasserting control.

He found the nearest motel in his price range - dirt cheap - and booked a room. Before going to bed he gave his gear a service, noting that he could probably do with getting a few more consecrated iron bullets, and refilling his hipflask and blessing the water.

Again Sam woke up early and went for a run, pushing himself more than he had since his mom had last been furiously breathing down his neck over something he had done wrong. But he had been resting on his laurels for far too long and going up against Azazel at less than his best was tantamount to suicide. Thankfully he saw no one he knew on his excursion, if his friends had all partied last night, it would be several more hours until they would be able face the day anyway.

As it was, he could barely go two blocks without seeing something that made him sick with nostalgia, no matter how carefully he had chosen his route. He pushed the memories away and concentrated on running, the sun beat down on his skin, drawing sweat from his pores but he felt like some sort of shadow person that was slowly fading from one world back into the one he had tried so hard to escape. The world where he belonged.

Once he had begun to take care of getting back in the game physically, all that was left to do was research. Research for Sam was, if not exactly the most enjoyable part of hunting, it was by far the least harrowing. He was naturally predisposed to the task and since he had been trusted with it, Mary had very rarely been able to find fault with his results.

He took his laptop to the library where he set up camp to research everything he could about his nemesis. He spent three days in the same motel, seeing the familiar streets of Palo Alto every morning but not feeling a part of them. It was like being starving but having to look through a stranger's window as they feasted. It was pale penance for letting Jess die like that, but he would be able to come up with something more appropriate later.

After his morning training, he spent the rest of those three days in the library before throwing his latest book away in frustration. All his demonology research had revealed nothing he didn't already know.

He rubbed his palms across his face and closed his eyes, nightmarish visions of a future where Azazel had got his way assaulting him as he did. Without knowing the details, all he could imagine was a world fallen into general chaos while demons and other monsters ran amok, marshalled by the psychic army he was supposedly destined for.

He went back in his mind to analyse every interaction he had had with the demon. He really wanted not to ever have to visit those memories again but who was he to argue when karma clearly wanted to punish him? Especially when he thought karma was really onto something. Azazel had never shown any weakness other than a wariness of the colt and he was pretty unpredictable and untraceable in terms of everything else.

Without warning, a throwaway taunt popped into his head, I fell with Lucifer.

What if Azazel wasn't actually a traditional demon at all? What if he was a fallen angel instead?

Invigorated by the possibilities of his new revelation and with an entirely new angle to approach his research from, he threw himself back into his task.

A/N: seriously sorry this took so long. I'll try and get back to a more reasonable update schedule but my work gets super busy around Christmas time so it might be a little irregular.