Nearly two decades hadn't done much to change Stull Cemetery. The stones had already been so crumbled, the iron fence so coated in rust, that any further decay inflicted by the elements had simply blended into the existing deterioration and disappeared.

Sam hadn't seen much on his one previous visit, only the shadow ridden glimpses provided by the beam of a cheap flashlight. Spectral images borrowed from horror movies and local legend had filled in the gaps, making sure the cemetery had, in his mind, remained a dark and foreboding place. As much as he had reveled in bragging about his adventure, he had been secretly relieved to learn that he and Dean had been forbidden to return. Even now, an eerie, threatening quality permeated the area, one that the full daylight couldn't burn away.

"Do you remember, Sam?" Lucifer asked, "The first night we met? You were just a child."

Sam didn't answer. This wasn't Lucifer's first attempt to draw him into conversation, nor was it likely to be the last. No doubt the Archangel could have easily forced some reaction from him, but, so far, he hadn't. He wanted Sam to engage willingly. That much was clear from the repeated attempts to gain his attention as if trying to coax a cat from under the sofa.

Crammed into a small corner of himself, Sam had remained stubbornly unresponsive. Mostly, he tried to block everything out, what happened inside of him as well as the outside. He had never seen someone die before, not unless you counted the flashing images of his own death in Cold Oak. Now, he had lost count of the victims of Lucifer's carnage, some in terrible events of mass destruction, some by his own hand. Sam's hands, and that made it so much worse.

"Even then," Lucifer continued in the face of the silence, "you knew. You could feel it, as I did, and we sought each other out."

"No, I didn't." Sam thought vehemently to himself, "I wouldn't."

"Of course you did." Lucifer replied. It took Sam by surprise. He hadn't realized that Lucifer could hear a private thought not meant to be expressed. Urgently he searched back through his memories, trying to recall what else may have been overheard, but quickly gave up. What did it matter? It was already too late anyway.

"We got off to a bad start." Lucifer said, a facade of caring tinting his voice, "That was my fault. I got excited and played a little too rough with you. But, you have to understand, Sam, I didn't know then how fragile humans are. I know to be more careful now. You don't have to be frightened of me."

Sam wasn't sure he remembered anymore what really had happened that night. He had only been 12 years old. The story had been retold so many times that the truth had eventually disappeared, buried under layer after layer of exaggerations and embellishments. One thing he was sure of-He did not come out here hoping to find the devil and hook up in some kind of sick, psychologically abusive, pet play relationship.

"You were so frightened and so brave." Lucifer gushed, "As scared as you were, you faced up to it. If not me, what could have possibly driven you to do that?"

"I was looking for Dean!" Sam blurted out defiantly, "He saved me that night, after you hurt me. If I have some kind of connection, if I'm drawn to anyone, it's him, not you!"

Thunder pounded the sky and Sam felt Lucifer's rage burst up around him, hot and loud like the roar of flames. He had stepped in it now. Lucifer was going to hurt him in ways that, even after everything he had seen, he couldn't even imagine.

But, the flames died down and receded quickly. "Ah yes, Dean," Lucifer sighed, "we were going to have to talk about him eventually, weren't we? I'll tell you, Sam, big brothers, they're such a paradox. Always thinking they know better, always telling you what to do, pushing you around. They say it's because they love you, that they're trying to look out for you. And then, they turn on you, stab you in the back. For your own good, of course. That's how they absolve the guilt. They blame you."

Sam bristled, biting back a reflexive defense of his brother. He had talked once, which was exactly what Lucifer had wanted. He couldn't take it back, but he could cut off the supply. Acceptance was the one thing that Lucifer, for all his power, could not force from him. It was the last piece he had left of himself, and he was determined to hold on to it. He curled back into his corner and brooded pointedly.

"You know I'm right, Sam." Lucifer prodded, "Look at Cain and Abel, Romulus and Remus, Joseph and Rueban, and Simeon, and Levi, and well you get the point. Can you deny that the evidence is all over even human history? Older brothers are not to be trusted."

Sam forced himself to count by prime numbers, ignored the words so that not even the thought of a response could enter his mind.

The loss of his toy annoyed Lucifer. He had finally made some progress and it was slipping away. But no matter, thanks to Sam's outburst, he now knew exactly which button to press.

"You've convinced yourself that Dean saved you from me that night." he said mockingly, "Do you imagine he will do it again? Will big brother magically appear and fight the devil for you? Well, where is he, Sam? Where was he when the demons took you? Where was he when you died? Where was he when my Machiavellian brethren fed you to me with a side of fries? Where is your great hero now? Answer me that, Sam. Where is Dean?"

XXXXX

Dean startled at the abrupt change from the heat and stench of Hell to the relative comfort of a homey diner. "What the he…" the word caught in his throat. "What's going on?" he substituted, looking around in confusion at the chrome fixtures and candy apple red booths. He knew this place. Just across the state line into Colorado, he and Sam had stopped here every year as the official declaration that the road trip was underway. It didn't really count until you knew you weren't turning around because of something that had been forgotten.

"I thought this would be a more comfortable place for you to talk."

Dean turned his attention across the table, towards the voice, "Dad?" he asked, as confused by what he saw as with the rest of his surroundings.

"No," said the man seated across from him, "I chose this form as one that you would find acceptable and comforting."

"Michael," Dean whispered suspiciously, leaning back in the booth seat defensively. He didn't know what was happening or why, and until he did, he didn't trust anyone or anything.

"You're still frightened of me." said the semblance of John Winchester, "even after I raised you from Hell's torments and revenged your suffering."

"Raised me?" Dean asked, grappling with the idea, "You mean, I'm out of He...the pit?"

"Did you imagine that I had remade it for your comfort?" Michael asked. No trace of humor or curiosity showed on the face or in the voice he had borrowed. "It should have been sooner. Locating you proved more difficult than we had anticipated. My direct involvement became required." It could almost pass for an apology, had Dean been feeling generous. He wasn't.

"You've got to put me back!" he exploded, "I can't be out. I made a deal. My son…"

"Is fine." Michael interrupted, still calm, "He and his mother are in the keeping of one of the faithful. No harm will be allowed to come to them, especially the boy."

Dean glowered. "As long as I do what?" he asked darkly, "What's the price tag on that?"

"No price tag," Michael told him, "It is simply in my interests to protect what is mine."

"What do you mean, 'what's yours'?" Dean growled, "Whatever the hel...whatever's going on, you leave my son out of it. He's just a kid."

"Dean," Michael said, "I know that you have suffered greatly and that suffering will bring out the worst in humans, but my patience is not infinite. There is no current threat to your son, or his mother, or your parents. Your concern needs to be for your brother."

"Sam?" Dean scoffed, "You must have missed a memo there buddy. Sam's dead. He went off to wherever it is you go when you die a virgin."

Michael spread his hands out, gesturing to the room around them.

Dean's eyes quickly scanned the familiar diner. "You're telling me that Sam went to a budget Biggerson's for all eternity?" he asked.

"Of course not." Michael said, either missing or ignoring the sarcasm, "For human souls, Heaven consists of memories. Much of the time, Sam's memories took the form of time spent with you."

Dean's interest was captured. "This is Sam's own personal Heaven?" he asked with excitement. "So, he's here somewhere. Where is he? I want to see him." He was already sliding out of the booth.

Michael laid a soft hand on his arm. "That is what we need to discuss. Our brothers have become acquainted and, to use human terms, they are a bad influence on one another." he said.

"You have a brother?" Dean asked. Nothing made sense anymore. Nothing had made sense for so long.

"We're not so different, Dean." Michael said, "We both have younger brothers, inclined towards brooding episodes and questionable choices. We've both found ourselves in the role of mentor to a brother who depended on our guidance. I failed Lucifer when he first rebelled. It is my greatest shame. I should not have allowed him to speak to Father as he did. I should have interceded, taken him in hand and made him see the error of his destructive path, convinced him to hold his tongue and remain obedient."

"I was weak, angered by the arrogance of his youthful folly. In that anger, I allowed him to travel his foolish course. I had hoped that it would be a lesson well learned." Michael seemed to be speaking more to himself than to Dean, who didn't understand half of it. "Now, what is done is done, and what must be done, regrettably, must be done."

"Um, yeah, sorry to hear about your family drama there," Dean spoke up, "but did you say Lucifer? Like, the devil, Lucifer? That's your brother?"

"The most beloved of my brethren."

"OK, can the sappy, bromance, love song lyrics for a minute. You're telling me that Sam's supposed to be here, living the good life in the ever after, but he's not, because he's out somewhere kicking around with the freakin' devil?"

A deep rumble of thunder made the room tremble.

Dean leaned back, hands up in apology, looking contrite.

"I wouldn't have put it so crudely," Michael said, "but that is an accurate description of the matter as it now stands."

"Wow, OK, did not see that coming." Dean mused. "All right, well you're the big, bad, powerful angel. Why don't you just go out and strike down the evil or whatever? That's what you guys do, right? What do you need me for? You didn't pull my ass out of the fire so that I could give Sammy a time out and a talking to about his choice in friends, so what's the catch? On a scale of totally and beyond all belief, how screwed am I?"

"I need your body." Michael said.

"Whoa, OK, that got weird fast. You couldn't start with buying me a drink?"

"I started with rescuing you from Hell." Michael said, just a hint of disbelief in his voice at having to state something so obvious.

"And I owe you big for that, but…"

"Enough!" Michael barked, "I have indulged you human foolishness for as long as I intend to. My brother, Lucifer, has found his true vessel, your brother Sam. Possession of his vessel has elevated Lucifer to power that he has never known. He is emboldened and even more reckless. Already he has called forth the horseman War, and entire towns destroy themselves in days. Soon Famine will follow and humans will turn from destroying one another to destroying themselves. It is the end of times. It can end before your world is dead, or after. The choice is yours."

Dean shifted uncomfortably. This was way above his pay grade. How did a guy whose relationship with responsibility was a casual acquaintance, at best, end up with the fate of the world in his hands? That sounded like some pretty poor planning to him. He cleared his throat and spoke hesitantly, "Well, I'd say before sounds good, if I get a vote. But, I still don't get how I fit into this Chuck Heston movie."

"As I said, Lucifer has taken possession of his vessel. In order to defeat him, once and for all, I must have my own." Michael said.

An itchy, unpleasant tickle crawled out of Dean's guts and spread through him. "Possession like, possession? You're telling me that the devil is walking around wearing Sam like a bathrobe?" he asked, not wanting to hear an answer he already knew.

"In the only terms you seem to be able to comprehend, yes."

"No," Dean said sharply, unable, unwilling to accept it, "That's not anywhere close to possible. Sam, the guy who drives the speed limit, does his homework, eats his veggies, that's the guy you think is the devil's new BFF forever? Somebody got something wrong."

"Things would be simpler if that were true. I can only assume that Father saw some benefit to a level of incompatibility, that it would serve some purpose. It seems to be a pattern." Michael said, giving Dean a meaningful look, "Our introduction had already taken far more time than it should have."

"Our, what's that supposed to, wait a minute, you want to ride around in me so you can have your throw down. That's it, isn't it?" Dean asked in surprise.

"Want it? No, but this is not about want I want. It is about what Father has commanded. The plan must be completed as intended when it was set into motion. The prophecy will be fulfilled and all this will be over."

Dean didn't care about God's will or fulfillment of prophecy, never had, and didn't see much reason to start now. "What about Sam?" he asked, "If you kill Lucifer, while he's hitching a ride in Sammy, you're telling me that he just walks away fine and dandy?"

"Of course not, he will die. But Dean, he already did that, over a year ago. You have my word, his soul will be returned to Heaven, to peace, to," Michael hesitated, glancing around the room uncertainly, "this place."

"No," Dean said firmly, "No, there's got to be another way." The pain of Sam's death, the hole it had made in his life, he couldn't do it again.

"Dean, Sam's soul is in torment, held prisoner in his own body. To die would be a release from that pain. We have no other option. If you want to save your brother, and what is left of your world, this is the way, the only way."

Pain stricken eyes regarded Michael as memories flashed through Dean's mind, Sam so scared of the first day of school, stories about his imaginary friend, the day Bones had followed him home. "I can't," he croaked, "You can't ask me to do this."

"Sam is suffering, Dean. You found Hell's demons to be unpleasant? Imagine the one who made them. That is what your brother endures. You can save him. The only question is, do you love him enough to do it?"

Dean squeezed his eyes shut on welling tears. "Damn it!" he exploded, banging his fist onto the table, "You tell me, you swear to me, that there is no other way."

"I have already told you, but I so swear if that is what you require. I believe you said you would prefer to act sooner rather than later, if you, as you put it, got a vote."

XXXXX

To say Lucifer had been locked away for a long time was to fail to convey the full scope of his imprisonment. Long, as humans or even angels understood it, was just a word, a sound that meant that time was going to seem to pass more slowly than what was desirable or tolerable. Long meant an hour until dinner, two weeks until Christmas, four years until graduation. It didn't adequately encompass generations living and dying, civilizations rising and falling, the works of man crumbling to dust, lost to time so thoroughly that no sign remained of what they had been, or even that they had been.

This is what long meant to Lucifer. And yet, he still remembered, because there was no length of time in which he could have forgotten. He couldn't have failed to notice. It was like a flame in the darkness, a ripple in still water. He felt it as soon as it left Heaven, a pattern of energy as familiar to him as his own.

He followed it as it drew closer, to Earth, to this place. It couldn't do otherwise. Without turning to face the new arrival when it touched down, he greeted it in a solemn voice, "Hello, brother."