A\N: Ok, so liberties have been taken. A great many liberties with both the lore from supernatural and the original mythology. It made sense in my head, please let me know if it doesn't make sense outside of my head.

Chapter twenty-one

Sam had called Bobby and left a message on his phone but the old geezer could barely work out how to answer the damn thing, let alone get into the voicemail. Sam wondered if Bobby even knew he had tried to call, Sam had never seen Bobby throw so much as a glance towards his phone unless it was ringing. So probably not.

It was hot and dusty as Sam sat on the porch surveying Bobby's scrap metal kingdom, it was almost like some post apocalyptic metropolis that had become as broken down and as stationary as the write-offs it was built from. A far cry from the steel jungle full of adventure he had liked to imagine in his childhood.

A dark and bitter part of Sam's mind wondered if the real reason his mom stopped speaking to Bobby was that he had enjoyed his time here too much. Sure Bobby had threatened her with bodily violence on more than one occasion, but when had that ever stopped Mary Campbell?

He took another sip of his beer and tried to enjoy the vista without troubling thoughts echoing through his mind for once. His brain was beginning to ache from all his troubled thoughts and he was beginning to worry that his frown would be permanently etched into his forehead. Besides, this was Bobby's house, the safest place on earth.

More beer. That's what he needed, enough to douse his sparking synapses. He took another draught but this was his first beer and he was only halfway through the bottle, he wouldn't feel the effects yet.

At the end of his third bottle Sam thought he should probably eat something so he made toast, the only thing he could trust himself to make between his blood alcohol level, Bobby's temperamental stove and his own lack of skill in the kitchen.

He took his meal - even if the term meal was a bit of a strong word for what was on his plate - through to the living room and dropped onto the sofa. He flicked the tv on and cycled through a couple of channels before he settled on a rerun of Star Trek: The Next Generation. It seemed so hopeful and idyllic on that spaceship that Sam was torn between scoffing at the lack of realism and being charmed by the faith the writers had in the human race. He watched lazily as he munched his toast and before long his eyelids drooped. His fingers went slack, allowing the empty plate to slip from his lap into the sofa and his head rolled back as he fell asleep.

A hand on his shoulder startled him awake. He grabbed it, twisted, and had the other guy pinned on the floor with Sam's knife at the back of his neck before he had even registered who had woken him up.

"Dean?" He questioned as he snatched the knife away from his brother's neck and released his grip on the arm he had twisted behind Dean's back.

"Told you that was a bad idea," Bobby chuckled from the doorway and headed upstairs to unload his bags, shaking his head he muttered, "You can take the boy out of hunting but you can't take the hunter out of the boy."

Still a bit nonplussed, Sam slowly got to his feet and held out a hand to Dean, "What are you doing here?"

"Apparently I'm getting my ass handed to me by my little brother." Dean retorted, his tone more than a little irritated and his eyebrows pressed into an angry line.

"Sorry. Reflexes." Sam said sheepishly, "Seriously though, how come you're at Bobby's?"

"He's teaching me how to hunt demons since someone took off before I could even ask last time," he accused. "Why are you here?"

Sam sighed and picked up the plate from where it had come to rest on the sofa, carrying it through to the kitchen and placing it softly in the sink before answering. "I came to ask Bobby for help, I need to use his library." He admitted.

"Help with what?" Bobby asked flatly as he appeared in the doorway to the kitchen.

"Azazel."

Immediately the atmosphere shifted. Dean snapped his attention to Sam, alert as if just mentioning the demon's name alone could summon him, whereas Bobby simply sighed and gestured at Sam to put the coffee machine on.

Soon enough, they were all sat at the table with cups of coffee infront of them, Sam with a modest breakfast as well. The other two were silent as they waited for Sam to enlighten them, Dean clearly the more uncomfortable. Sam could see the questions wriggling around inside him, trying to find an outlet. So could Bobby.

"Spit it out, boy," he snapped at Dean, causing Sam to look up at them through his eyelashes. Usually Bobby needed a full coffee in him before talking business.

Dean shot Bobby a look but sighed and turned intently to Sam and said, "What the hell happened while you were gone? Why have you turned up here all of a sudden needing help with Azazel? Why did you go in the first place?"

Sam slowly finished his mouthful of cereal to give himself time to organise the riot of excuses and revelations that were tumbling around his head into a cohesive answer. "First, I went back to my dorm room to pick up some of my things." Sam saw a brief look of guilt flash across Dean's face, "Then I went on the road, I was mostly doing research and just trying to keep moving. I wanted to make it as hard as possible for any demon to pin my down, but I took the occasional hunt if one presented itself."

"So what did you find?" Prompted Bobby.

"I know why the salt, the holy water and the devil's traps don't work on Azazel. It's not just that he's too powerful - I mean he is really powerful but... He's not really a demon -"

"What the hell do you mean he's not a demon! He's the king of hell isn't he? What else would be be?" Dean interjected loudly before being cowed by the matching facial expressions worn by Sam and Bobby.

"He's a fallen angel." Sam revealed, feeling like he was confessing a grave sin.

Bobby blew out a heavy breath and leaned back in his chair, he removed his cap while he ran a hand through his hair then settled it back on his head. "So you're saying angels are real?"

Sam nodded.

"Are you absolutely sure?" Bobby asked leaning forward and staring at Sam intently.

Sam held his gaze. "I'm sure," he reiterated, knowing that Bobby would believe him. Bobby was probably the only person in the world who would hang his faith on the word of a part-demon, sorry excuse for a hunter who could do nothing but run away from his problems.

Strange - as Sam usually considered Bobby to be very wise.

"Well this is some deep shit and no mistake." Sighed Bobby, "I guess we gotta find out how to kill an angel..."

That sentence just seemed wrong. And Dean seemed to share his train of thought, "Bobby, you do realise you're talking about learning how to kill angels, right? Aren't they supposed to be the good guys?" He protested.

"I don't think that applies to fallen angels, do you? Besides, all the crap that goes on in the world and they don't lift a finger to help? They can't be that good." Bobby replied, "We need to find out every weakness this thing has, if he even has any, and figure out a way to use it against him. And we need to know what he's planning."

"Actually," Sam began tentatively, "I know he's been building an army of psychic kids - and now I think I've figured out why as well."

"Go on then, tell us why a fallen angel is building an army of evil X-Men," Dean encouraged, his tone more than a touch scathing.

"He wants to raise Lucifer. He wants to start the apocalypse and the psychic kids will form his elite guard in the ensuing war. From what I can tell, fully powered angels are pretty omnipotent, they're impervious to most attacks and they can smite with a single touch... But we're immune to most angelic and demonic powers."

"Okay, I get the whole immunity thing, but how useful are visions going to be in a war like that? I mean wouldn't giving you laser vision or Wolverine claws be more useful?"

"Dean I don't think Azazel chose what powers we got, I think the blood just manifested differently for eveyone - and... Turns out, I can make things move with my mind." Sam admitted quietly and hurried to elaborate, "I only did it once. I was hunting a ghoul who had decided he liked his meals a lot fresher than normal. I was trapped in the crypt where he'd made his nest and... I dunno, I was desperate. I knew if I didn't get out quick another life would be lost, so I panicked, and the doors just blew out halfway across the cemetery. Hurt like a bitch too, even worse than my visions. But I was thinking... "

"Go on..." Bobby growled.

"I mean, if Azazel is a fallen angel then, what ever he has become, his being is of angel stock, right? So... " Sam huffed a breath, "I've always been afraid of my visions, the evil they came from, what they could turn me into... But what if they're not inherently evil? If an angel could turn into a demon then couldn't I learn to control my powers and just use them for good?"

When Sam looked up he saw Bobby watching him with a strange expression on his face. "Sam, there are a lot of ways this could go wrong," he warned.

Sam nodded, "I know. But my visions hit whether I want them to or not, if I can't stop them from coming, at least I can do something good with them, same with the telekinesis." He took a deep breath and continued, choosing his words carefully, "If something bad is happening and I can do something about it, I have to do everything I can to stop it - especially since I might be the only one who can."

Bobby stared for a few moments before sighing and shaking his head. "Pamela's gonna have a field day with this," he muttered. "How exactly does Azazel plan to raise Lucifer anyway?"

"Its a long and complicated process, there's a lot of requirements he has to fulfil. Most of them have been met already as far as I can tell, but the last one is a ritual on halloween night involving a big sacrifice. And they need somebody for Lucifer to possess." Sam took his coffee cup and bowl and set them in the sink, turning to face the others as he leant against the counter and crossed his arms.

"What's so special about Lucifer's meatsuit?" Dean quizzed as he turned in his seat to follow Sam.

"I'm guessing - since Lucifer is a being of incredible power and indescribable evil - there's not gonna be many out there who can withstand that without burning out pretty quickly." Bobby shot a look to Sam as if asking if his research confirmed Bobby's deductions. Sam nodded.

"But how are they going to find someone strong enough?"

"They can't. So... they made some."

There was a moment of silence and then Dean slowly turned to face Sam looking stunned, the penny seemed to have dropped with the force of a bullet. "You mean..."

Sam sighed despondently, "Yep, Lucifer gets to choose whichever one of us he wants as his vessel, and the rest become soldiers in the war to end all life on earth."

"Thats..."

"Terrifying? Join the club," Sam shifted his weight as he braced his hands on the counter top behind him, drumming his fingers on it with nervous energy.

Bobby assessed him silently for a moment. "Well, I better give Pamela a call, see what she thinks about all this psychic training crap. Why don't you and Dean go out the back, do some proper training for a bit? Give me a day off." He said as he heaved himself out of his chair and retreated to the little corner of his house he liked to call his office.

Sam looked back at Dean who was now grinning and wagging his eyebrows. "How about it Spiderman?"

"Spiderman?"

"Y'know, with great power comes great responsibility?" Dean let the sentence hang questioningly in the air as he waited for Sam to... Say something? Congratulate him on the reference?

Sam didn't really know. He rolled his eyes and pushed off the counter, jogging up the stairs to grab a change of clothes from where he had left his bag on the foot of his old bed the previous day.

"I usually run laps for about half an hour and then get into the strength stuff?" He said as he led the way to the yard.

"Sure," Dean agreed, "Bobby usually makes me practice throwing knives as well."

Sam nodded as he started working some of stiffness out of his muscles, he set a timer on his watch and they set off.

Sam started at an easy pace for the first lap but once his blood was flowing, his pace began to pick up gradually, only really hitting his stride two laps later. He enjoyed the burn and the feeling of freedom that pushing himself gave him, to really stretch and make full use of his body. It was such a contrast to being crammed into a car seat or hunched over a library desk.

He didn't mean to pull so far ahead and he tried to console Dean by pointing out that his legs were longer - which didn't really work - So he suggested that maybe strength was more his thing, rather than cardio but the way Dean eyed him up suggested he strongly disagreed.

An hour later they stood throwing knives at a large panel of chipboard littered all over in no discernable pattern with tiny stab wounds. Sam didn't strictly need the practice - unless something serious had happened to his aim in the last week - and Dean was well on his way to becoming a decent shot, but they stood taking turns impaling board with an assortment of knives anyway.

The day was really starting to heat up and turn the steel of the knives hot in their hands when they decided to call it a day. Dean pushed Sam aside as he jogged past him towards the house shouting about getting the first shower. Sam sniggered and shook his head, following Dean at a more relaxed pace.

He headed straight for the fridge once he was inside and poured himself a glass of orange juice. He took a large gulp and savoured the tartness as the liquid filled his throat.

He heard the muffled thud of Bobby's boots on the dusty floorboards and looked up as the older hunter entered the room.

"Well Pamela had some interesting things to say about you and your powers," Bobby began.

Sam's nerves instantly zinged alive and he rolled his shoulders to unlock the muscles there. He turned to set the glass down on the counter top and couldn't bring himself to face Bobby as he asked, "What kind of interesting?"

"Relax, Sam. It wasn't the bad kind of interesting." he assured.

Sam released the breath he had been holding and couldn't keep the hope from bubbling up as he turned and said, "What did she say?"

"She said that demon or angel blood - whatever it is that Azazel bleeds - can't give just anyone psychic powers. Apparently there has to be a potential there for it to unlock, she doesn't know if the powers would manifest without the blood, but there's not a lot she can suggest over the phone..."

Sam sighed and nodded, of course not. Despite his plan to use his abilities and his attempts to justify it, he was not remotely fond of having demon-given powers, and Pamela had given him an incredible gift in the knowledge that his powers didn't totally rely on the demon blood, that there was something of him in there as well. He should just be grateful that she had given him that much and not dare to hope for more.

"Sam." Bobby drew his attention again, "she's coming here to train you."

"What?" Sam asked astonished, "Why would she come all the way out here to train me?"

Bobby shrugged, "I guess she thought, with the whole world at stake, it was worth a try."

Sam nodded, he supposed desperate times called for desperate measures, and if a budding apocalypse didn't make for a desperate time, what did?

Once the shower was free, Sam hopped enthusiastically into it and proceeded to scrub the dust and sweat out of his pores with vigour. When he arrived downstairs Dean was sprawled out across the sofa, a book held with one hand balancing on his chest while the other hand draped over the edge of the sofa, fingers hovering over a small bowl of popcorn.

Sam glanced curiously at the cover as he walked past and saw that it was a book on demons as he moved towards Bobby's library. It seemed, by popular consensus, to be reading hour, Sam thought as he saw Bobby with his head propped up over the oldest bible Sam had ever seen. Bobby looked up at Sam as he looked to choose for himself something that seemed likely to contain some angelic lore, and nodded a brief acknowledgement that promised the sharing of findings later.

So Sam perused the shelves and sought out the oldest books in the room - sans the one Bobby was currently occupied with - ones even he hadn't already consumed, but then again, he had hardly expected he would ever need to know angel lore. He picked a couple of tomes that looked promising and settled himself in the armchair in the living room across from Dean.

His older brother started as Sam sat down and threw accusing eyes at him, "You scared me half to death! Make some noise when you move or something would ya?"

Sam smirked, "Sorry, force of habit."

The trio studied until Sam's stomach growled audibly, which made Dean look over at him, "I guess it must be lunchtime, huh?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, marking his place to put the book aside but Dean held up a hand, stopping him in his tracks.

"No, I got this. You just carry on with your research college boy. I need a break anyway."

Sam watched Dean plod heavily into the kitchen, only mildly apprehensive of the result of letting Dean prepare him food. He turned back to the book which held a wealth of information on the language of angels, which Sam hoped would help him understand how banishing sigils worked. If he could understand them, maybe he could modify them? Or even use them in conjunction with a devil's trap to boost its power? Sam didn't know if any of his ideas would work but he couldn't stop his brain fizzing with the possibilities.

Sam accepted from Dean a plate of food which was - mercifully and surprisingly - not flooded with grease and actually rather tasty, making Sam grunt in surprised appreciation.

"You like?" Dean asked smugly.

Sam nodded and swallowed his bite. "Yeah. I didn't know you could cook."

"Well at least I'm not completely useless."

"You're not useless," Sam protested with a frown, "you're just having to play catch up a little. Where did you learn how to cook anyway?"

Dean shrugged, "You remember me telling you about my neighbour down the street when I was growing up?"

Sam quickly searched his memory, "Yeah... So she taught you how to cook other things, not just pies?"

"Yeah, that's her. Anyway dad was lousy at cooking so it was either let her teach me or be cursed to eat crappy boxed mac 'n' cheese every night."

Sam smiled, "Your neighbour sounds pretty awesome."

"Yeah," agreed Dean, "scary as hell too, when she's pissed..."

Dean curled one corner of his mouth into a crooked, wistful smile before he shook himself out of his reverie and went back to his book. They stayed in quiet study until the evening, Dean had emptied his bowl of popcorn two hours previously and Sam had made some headway on understanding a little of the language of angels - or at least as it applied to protection sigils.

A knock on the door had Sam and Dean's attention as a grumbling Bobby shuffled to answer it.

"Pamela!" he exclaimed in surprise, "you got here quick."

"Well I just got finished helping another hunter out a little over this way and something told me that the big steaming pile of crap you guys had stepped into needed cleaning up fast."

"They don't call you psychic for nothing, do they?" Bobby grumbled.

Pamela's laugh echoed down the hall, along with their footsteps and she said, "So where are those strapping young men of yours?"

Sam caught the look Dean shot him that screamed don't you dare just as Pamela and Bobby entered the room. He rolled his eyes but stood up to greet Pamela properly and thanked her for coming.

"Cute and polite, that's a rare combo." Pamela remarked with a lascivious grin.

Sam let out an uneasy chuckle and was glad when Dean hastily captured Pamela's attention. She was quickly shown upstairs to the room that Sam used whenever he had stayed, the one Dean was currently using. Sam quickly scooped his bag from the bed and carried it downstairs, leaving Dean to make small talk - or, more accurately, flirt - with Pamela while he gathered his own belongings.

Bobby ordered pizza for dinner and they sat around eating and drinking beer and it was the closest Sam had come to just relaxing and enjoying something in weeks. He didn't really count the workouts because - apart from them being stimulating, not relaxing - he could never really lose focus on why he was working out and therefore he had been pushing his limits to the point of nausea more often than not recently. It was working though, he could feel himself getting stronger, faster and he had more stamina but, like Dean, he feared it wouldn't be enough.

"Yeah, that's how I got this scar," Sam tuned in to hear the end of a hunting story Pamela was regaling Dean with. She pulled the strap of her top down her arm to bare the back of her shoulder, revealing a short but thick scar. "The spirit threw me through a wall and one of the splinters wedged itself in my shoulder."

It was clear she had captured Dean's attention wholly and was not above revelling in it. Once she had finished that story she launched into a tale of a shapeshifter who was impersonating celebrities to lure in fans, eventually killing them when they started to realise something was wrong.

She ended the anecdote by holding up her right hand and showed Dean the two rings encircling her fingers. "This one is pure silver," she pointed to her middle finger, then removed the other ring from the next finger and let Dean examine it more closely, "This one is consecrated iron, you see those engravings? They're protection symbols against demons, between these two had boys, I'll know if anything is supernatural the moment I shake hands with it."

"That's a really cool idea, did you come up with it?" Dean praised as he handed the ring back.

"Oh, it wasn't my idea. Hunters have got all sorts of trick like this," Pamela fingered the charm on her wrist, "This one stops me from being possessed by anything."

Dean admired the bracelet then looked to Sam with a smirk, "So do you have a pretty little charm like this?"

Sam held up his hands, baring his wrists, "Just the rings," he said then tugged at the collar on his t-shirt, "for anti-possession, I've got something a little more permanent."

"Nice," Dean apreciated.

The evening consisted mainly of Dean charming hunting stories out of Pamela until Bobby announced that he was going to bed, at which instance, Pamela took her leave as well. Then Sam was left with Dean and the task of deciding which brother would sleep where.

"So..." Began Dean, "rock, paper, scissors for the sofa?"

Why not? Sam thought as he smirked and fisted a hand infront of him, ready to play. He won and tried to ignore Dean's sore attitude as they made their beds for the night.

This time, Sam was awake with the dawn, having caught up on lost sleep the previous day. He sipped his coffee on the porch, watching the effervescent light of the rising sun slink lazily over the towers of cars in the yard. The cars lit up like signal flares, one by one, as the dawn laid claim to them and the porch became awash with dazzling light as the sun hit that perfect angle to remind Sam that there was more in the world than darkness, death and horror.

Bobby joined Sam as the light receded and they both finished their coffees in silence. Once Sam's cup was empty he moved back into the kitchen to have his breakfast. He sat for a few moments in front of his empty bowl in the almost equally empty kitchen, and since Bobby had wondered off to occupy himself somewhere else and no one else was awake, Sam shrugged to himself and got ready for his morning workout.