Sam woke to the Impala's dark interior and gradually became aware that that the thrum of the pavement beneath the tires that had lulled him to sleep had now ceased. Groggily he swung his gaze to the driver's seat, not able to make much out in the near dark.

A garbled mumble rose up behind him and he twisted around to investigate. Dean lay curled up, somehow crammed into the too small space of the backseat, his head pillowed on his wadded up jacket. His mouth was perked into a contended smile. Sam intentionally avoided considering what his brother might be dreaming about.

It looked like they were parked by the side of the road in the middle of nowhere. Dean must have doubted his ability to stay awake until they hit the next town and pulled off to catch some Zs.

A spontaneous stretch took Sam's body, his long legs coming up short of space in the confines of the car's seat. He opened the door and stepped out into the night air. After stretching his legs and waking up a bit, he could figure out where they were and take the wheel, get them the rest of the way to civilization, and a couple of real beds. Dean should be done with his dream by then, and hopefully, wouldn't feel the need to overshare the details.

His eyes were slow adjusting to the dark. They really were off the grid. He wasn't sure where they were. There weren't any road signs that he could make out, but the area didn't offer any lights that would have helped with visibility. Not even the temporary illumination of the occasional pair of passing headlights presented itself. Only the buzz of nocturnal insects stirred in the quiet.

Careful not to trip over anything Sam took a few cautious steps. The relief of his knotted up muscles untying themselves felt good. His footfalls crunched up from the ground, the sound highlighting how isolated they were.

It made the unexpected noise especially attention grabbing. His progress halted as he tried to identify it or locate its source. It hadn't been a crash or a rustle in the treeline. He peered warily into the darkness, unable to make out much more than shadows.

"Hello?" he called out. He didn't know why. There was no way anyone could realistically be within earshot. It's just what you do.

No answer came.

"Is someone there?" he asked the dark, taking a hesitant step. He'd seen this before, in dozens of sub-par slash thrillers that Dean had been inflicting on him since they were kids. In an act of petty vengeance, Sam would habitually point out the plot convenient bad decisions destined to culminate in particularly gruesome death scenes. An uncomfortable thought flitted briefly through his mind, but he refused to validate it with serious consideration.

After all, even if this was the exact point in the movie that the killer would burst on scene to jump scare the audience and set the tone by taking out victim number one in some brutal and bloody fashion, that had no relationship to real life. Sam tensed anyway, raising protests from his achy legs and back.

Predictably, nothing happened.

Of course nothing happened. It was an animal, or a falling branch, or something equally as ordinary. Chuckling nervously at his own paranoid fantasies, Sam turned to head back to the car. The young woman standing behind him nearly made him jump out of his skin.

"Hello, Sam" she greeted him with the appearance of someone keeping a pre-scheduled, arranged meeting. Her hair perfectly groomed and wearing a pristine, business like outfit, she couldn't have looked more out of place on an out of the way stretch of little traveled road long after sunset.

"I...um," Sam grappled for some reasonable explanation for her presence, eventually able to ask, "Do you need some kind of help?"

"As a matter of fact, I do." she answered, "Here, this will make things go much faster."

Sam flinched on instinct when she reached for him, but not quickly enough to avoid the tap of her fingertips to his forehead. He blinked in confusion as walled off memories escaped the crevice they had been packed into and flowed to reintegrate themselves into his mind. Comprehension flashed on his face. "No," he declared, backing away, "I said, no. Whatever you angel's deal is, I'm not interested. Go bother some other dead guy."

She advanced on his retreat. "Sam, with due respect to your human instinct to emote, time is of the essence. We don't have the luxury of indulging your primitive urges right now." she said.

Sam really was beginning to dislike angels. He wondered idly if this was what eternity was going to be, constant visits from celestial hucksters pitching some divine pyramid scheme. Maybe this was actually Hell. An exasperated sigh escaped him.

"I should begin with an introduction and an apology." the angel spoke, taking his lack of response as her cue to continue, "The decision to utilize deception in order to avoid distressing you was ill advised. I am Rachel. I have been tasked with correcting our communications break down."

"Breakdown?" Sam couldn't believe what he was hearing. "Our communications didn't 'break down'. You people keep lying to me." he said sharply.

"Yes," she agreed readily, "which I have only just now identified as a flawed approach. There would be little point in my pursuing a failed strategy. Can we move on?"

Sam opened his mouth to reply, but he found he didn't really have one. Her utter transparency had left no readily apparent deception to capitalize on. He distrusted Rachel on principle, but a specific justification for that distrust just wasn't there.

"Good," she said, again filling his silence in with the answer she preferred. The air around him filled with the sound of what he now recognized as the beat of angel wings.

XXXXX

March 28, 2008

"Damned amateurs," Christian quietly cursed watching the third replay of the short video. The self anointed ghost hunters had definitely captured something on the salvaged camera. A death echo, or maybe a death omen, was his guess. Whichever, it didn't really matter. Whatever haunted the Morton house was only active every leap day. That meant a four year window to safely search for the bodies. If successful, that could provide the families with some closure, but it wasn't what he and Sarah had been sent here to do.

"I'd say it's just what it looks like, bunch of wannabes thought ghosts were some kind of game and found out different. Nothing I can see says demonic." he said.

"Of course not," Sarah moaned over his shoulder before wandering away to flop backward on one of the room's beds, "This was a milk run. I knew it would be."

Christian remembered what it was like to be a young rookie, eager for action, looking to prove yourself, too green to have a grasp of the risks. He wasn't in the mood for it. Sarah was a good kid, smart, talented, but young, too young to be in the field. The fact that she was here at all was morbid testimony to how thinly spread the family resources had become. She lacked the discipline necessary to maintain order in field conditions. She was still thinking of him as an older distant cousin, not as her senior partner on this assignment.

He turned and gave her a hard look. "You got someplace more important to be?" he asked impatiently.

"No," she said, remembering herself and sitting up on the edge of the bed. "It just makes sense. It's my first time out and you're…" she stopped herself short, suddenly aware of just how far out of line she had stepped.

"I'm damaged goods." Christian filled in darkly.

"I didn't say that." any pretense of field protocol evaporated. The defensive teen in her took over. The attitude didn't take long to whither under Christian's stern gaze. "Being wounded doesn't make you damaged, Chris." she said softly.

"Wounds heal," he said, holding up what remained of his left hand, "This is for life." They had been able to save the thumb and two fingers. She had to get it. Right now, she was being as naive as those 'Ghostchasers' or whatever the hell they had called themselves, and she was heading for the same bad end if she didn't wake up about how dangerous this life could be.

Sarah shifted uncomfortably. Whether he would admit it or not, Christian was damaged, in way that went way beyond his body. It wasn't exactly a big, deep family secret.

Every hunter knew they were bound to lose people. There had been a lot of loss to go around lately. So many fires, some for people she'd been close to.

But none of them had died pulling her ass out of an ambush. And none of them had been her father.

Maybe if there had been a body to burn that might have helped.

"Chris, what happened wasn't your fault." she said gently.

Don't, just don't," he said firmly. He wasn't ready to talk about it, especially not with a still wet behind the ears teenager that he was supposed to be getting to grow up.

It was suddenly very uncomfortable in the room and Sarah felt that she very much wanted out of it. "I'm gonna call G-dad Robert," she announced, getting to her feet, "See if he wants us to stay on it or come back in." She moved quickly for the door before it could come up that she could just as easily call from inside.

Christian allowed her the pretense. He was just as happy as she was to put the subject to bed. He turned back to the laptop and pretended that there was some point to giving the short piece of footage a few more views.

XXXXX

At first glance, Sam mistakenly believed that were in some other part of his Heaven. That couldn't be right though. This place was a dump. Peeling wallpaper and dubious carpet stains forced uncomfortable thoughts about what might be living in the sheets or growing in the shower. He and Dean never stayed in places this sketchy.

The cursory survey to get his bearings had been instinctive, a natural reaction to the unexpected transport. Beyond that, Sam wasn't really interested in the room or what they were doing there. He gave Rachel a quick put upon look before turning to stalk purposefully towards the door.

"Where do you think you're going?" she asked impatiently.

"Don't know," Sam shot over his shoulder, "I'm just not staying here."

Noticeable bits of agitation started to form around the edges of Rachel's calm. They were small, a matter of little concern, but she still didn't care for it. It was unseemly. She had been warned that humans could be challenging, this one especially so. She would not allow herself to be provoked to response over a matter that would settle itself.

Sam reached the door, ready to fling it open in dramatic fashion. His hand passed through the knob without resistance or effect, calling cut on his exit scene. He spun back to face Rachel. "What is this?" he demanded, "Let me out of here."

"Oh, now you're willing to listen?" she shot back, "You know, this is all going to be much easier for both of us if you would please stop acting like a spoiled brat and let me do my job."

Various courses of action played out in Sam's head. None of them ended well. Trying the door again would just be embarrassing. He couldn't back up any threats he made. "Fine," he said in grudging surrender, "Do your job, and then you can take me back to my car."

Rachel was instantly all business again. "What this is," she said, "is Earth, specifically Appleton, Wisconsin. And that," she stepped aside clearing Sam's view of the room's desk and the man seated there, "is Christian Campbell, your second cousin on your mother's side."

Despite his resistance to whatever it was that was happening, that captured Sam's attention. His mother's family had always been a mysterious topic. It hadn't been taboo exactly, just not discussed often and certainly not in detail. He forgot for the moment that anything Rachel said was automatically suspect.

Sam stepped closer, intrigued by this familial stranger. He looked tired, too tired, too beaten down for a man his age. The fingers of the mangled hand spasmed involuntarily, drawing Sam's eye. "Was he a soldier or something?" he asked.

"Not in the way you're thinking. He's a warrior, but he doesn't really know what he fights for. To him, the battle is as simple as right versus wrong, resistance instead of surrender. He doesn't know or even think about, the grand scheme of things, the nature of the universe, and the scope of the forces at play. He just does what must be done, because it must be done, fights the evils that fall within his limited view simply because they are there."

An unsure sick sort of feeling poked at Sam's gut. "The other angel, Samasomething, said that demons killed my parents, that my mother was in some kind of battle."

She looked at him sympathetically. "I know it's hard, Sam, finding out that the world is so much larger than you had ever thought about. Yes, your family has fought an endless war for every generation up until yours. Your mother didn't want that for you, or your brother, but she couldn't see that destiny will not be denied. In the end, her own choices lead her right back to where she started and you still have a preordained path ahead of you."

"To help Michael fight the devil." he said softly.

"And save the world," she said. She could feel his confusion, the struggle that tore at him, driven one way by duty and yet, held back by doubt and fear.

"I can't," he whispered, "It's too big."

He was so close. She just had to make it a little more personal.

XXXXX

"Another long lost relative?" Sam asked at the sight of the bearded man. He was seated at a cheap, paper strewn desk, engrossed in the study of an article: FRAT HOUSE MASS SUICIDE CLAIMS 17 LIVES.

"No," Rachel said, "he is Pastor James Murphy, a good man of devout faith."

Sam wasn't sure why they were in the dingy little church office peeping in on some random clergyman. Before he could ask, a side door opened. "I thought you could use a little break." said a voice Sam recognized. He turned towards it. He had to have been mistaken.

"Brenda?" he whispered, not quite accepting what his eyes were telling him. His almost sister-in-law had always been mindful of her appearance. This version of her, no make-up, usually coifed hair drawn into a limp ponytail, looked like a pale copy of her. Even the way she moved was wrong, cautiously reserved, instead of the confidant strength with which she had always carried herself.

The Pastor looked up from his papers and thanked her for the mug of coffee she offered him. She looked curiously at the desktop's litter of papers. "Is that another one of those signs you've been looking for?" she asked.

"I wish I knew." he said, rubbing at his eyes, "It could be. I'll be passing it on to Robert. His people will look into it."

"Something's happening, isn't it? Something...biblical." she asked, "I know you're trying to protect me, but you can tell me. I can handle it."

He took her hand gently in a reassuring gesture. "I promise you," he said, "when I know, you will. Until then, you're safe here." Her expression fell, and he added, "Have faith."

Sam tried to follow the conversation, tried to discern some meaning in the words, but something else was competing for his attention, something just beyond the edge of his awareness. A rhythm of plinking sounds drifted down from somewhere above him. He focused on it and it revealed itself to be a poorly played tune. Without knowing why he turned to follow the sound up the stairs. It grew louder as he climbed.

He knew he recognized it. He continued his assent, straining to hear better and searching his memory for something to which to connect the off tempo notes. What was it?

Something, something, broken crown, dum-da-da, won't hold me down, it was right at the edge of his memory, just out of reach. Why did it feel so important?

He got it. It was 'Good-bye To Romance'. Dean had loved that song, used to joke about wanting it played at his funeral.

Quickening his pace Sam took the rest of the stairs two at a time. The church's chapel was empty except for whoever it was that was pecking out a slightly mangled version of classic rock on a piano usually reserved for Sunday hymns.

Sam approached. On the piano's bench sat Little John, morose face resting heavily on one hand. The other absently pressed the keys with two fingers. He'd grown. Sam was suddenly aware that he hadn't seen the boy in almost a year.

"Poor child," Rachel's voice over his shoulder startled Sam out of the rapt attention that he'd fallen into.

"What's going on?" he asked urgently, "What are they doing here? Where's Dean?"

Rachel hesitated. That was 'need to know' information that she was supposed to keep quiet unless there was no avoiding it. "Dean is unavailable." she said carefully, "He has accepted his role in what is to come, in order to save his son, a meaningless sacrifice, considering."

"Considering what?" Sam's patience with angelic half answers bubbled up in him and he had to force himself to keep his emotions in check.

"Considering the boy will have to take your place, Sam. Archangels are tied to family lines. If you won't accept your responsibility, there's only one remaining member of the Winchester line to choose from."

"To do what?" Sam asked darkly. His eyes narrowed, his temper barely held back.

"Does it matter?" Rachel asked.

Sam's eyes closed and he sighed heavily in resignation. "No, no it doesn't." he said. He looked again at Little John, still playing one of his father's favorite songs, unaware of the other beings in the room. Not taking his eyes from the pitiful sight Sam said, "Whatever it is, I'll do it. I'm in."