Chapter Nine

Heaven was in chaos. Or, more specifically, the angels were panicking, running around on the orders of their superiors, growing increasingly desperate as they faced failure after failure with the tasks they were given. They had been trying to keep the disorder quiet, unwilling to catch the attention of Michael, who would surely lash out for their mistakes.

"How could this have happened?" Uriel demanded of Zachariah. The smaller seraphs flew here and there, disappearing from Heaven in a flutter of wings and then returning seconds later to report yet again that, no, Dean Winchester could not be found, his soul lost from them.

"Believe me, I am as upset as you are," Zachariah seethed. "When Castiel reported to me that Dean had disappeared, I had assumed that Castiel had simply not done a good enough job. It didn't feel right, though, so I had other angels look into it. Dean Winchester has not been seen on Earth for quite some time."

"Is he in Hell, then?"

"No," Zachariah sighed heavily. "My contacts in Hell swear they've never even seen Dean, had no idea that he was missing. They assumed that we'd be watching over him until the time came. They are...displeased that we do not seem to be able to hold up our end."

Uriel hissed in displeasure, cutting his eyes at a lowly seraph that had been staring. The poor angel scurried off, frightened. This was not good. The apocalypse was supposed to go off without any major hitches, and for such a major player in the game to disappear off the face of the Earth...

"And what of the other Winchester? Lucifer's vessel?" Uriel asked.

Zachariah frowned. "Castiel reported to me that Sam Winchester left Palo Alto with John Winchester just a few days ago. Strange, because he was supposed to have left California years ago."

The only excuse Zachariah could come up with was that as a higher being, time passed differently for him. While on Earth, a few years might seem like a long time, to him, it was seemed like days. However, no matter how differently time passed, the chaos now was a sign of impending consequences. The entire apocalypse depended on certain events happening, on certain people living and certain people dying, and if Sam Winchester was only just now leaving Palo Alto, that indicated that someone had been tampering with things they should most definitely not my tampering with.

"Is there anyway to get the apocalypse back on track?" Uriel murmured quietly, wings arched and fluttering, prepared to take flight.

"It is...difficult to determine how much damage has been done," Zachariah admitted. "Our entire plan revolved around Dean and Sam Winchester becoming codependent once more as they began hunting again, with Sam falling into Azazel's hands and with Dean making the deal that would condemn his soul to hell. Our sources say that Sam hasn't been in contact with Dean for years, meaning that John Winchester never went off the grid, meaning that Dean never went to Sam and asked for help in locating their father. While many of the events that lead to the apocalypse may seem small and insignificant to the grand scheme of things, that is unfortunately not the case. Our arrogance led to us not keeping track of the two most important pieces on the board, and with Michael's vessel seemingly vanishing into thin air, I am afraid we do not have good news to report to him."

Uriel's many faces twisted in displeasure at the thought of Michael's rage. He and many other angels had assured Michael that nothing would derail his destiny to fight his brother, Lucifer, and to have to report that his vessel, Dean Winchester, was gone without a trace, was not something Uriel was looking forward to. Majority of Heaven was banking on Michael's victory, however, that victory would never come to fruition if Michael did not have a way to come to Earth to face his fallen brother, the North Star.

With a beat of his wings, Uriel replied, "The main vessels are of utmost importance, and so we continue the search and send out scouts to determine what Lucifer's vessel is up to. In the mean time, I suggest we start finding other blood members of the Winchester and Campbell family. If the main vessels are unavailable, perhaps Michael's wrath can be lessened if we provide him with an alternative."

He vanished, leaving Zachariah standing among the clouds.

John's truck thundered down the road, Bobby's truck following closely behind. Sam had opted to ride with Bobby, not feeling confident that he could sit in the car with his father without starting a fight he didn't have the energy to finish. Riding in the car with Bobby was a pleasant change of scenery; there wasn't any blaring rock music battering against his eardrums, and Bobby was just as content as Sam to spend the trip in amicable silence.

But just because they didn't talk didn't mean that Sam didn't have a million thoughts running through his mind.

His head rested against the side of the car, the window rolled down just a bit so that the sharp wind would hit him in the eyes, keeping him away. After his last dream, he was reluctant to allow himself to fall asleep. He kept trying to form theories on ways to save Dean and ways to figure out what the YED wanted with him and his brother, but his mind kept twisting and turning back to the existence of what appeared to be another Winchester. He and Dean had never met any of John's side of the family, at least not that they could remember. And it was the same with their mother's side. And if there was more of their family out there, what would it matter to John if they died? It isn't like John was a family man, Sam quietly snorted to himself. The way the man treated his two sons was a clear indication that he had better things to do than be a good father.

He wanted to just forget that the dream had even happened, but every time he thought about it, his stomach twisted painfully and his heart began to pound. His body was trying to tell him something, as was his mind, and Sam knew that he couldn't ignore the signs forever. Ignoring the foreshadowing had led to the death of his wife and children. But how to mention it to his father? John saw the world in black and white. Either you were a monster that deserved to die, or you were human. There wasn't a grey area, not for him, and he wouldn't react well to Sam revealing that he had seemingly prophetic dreams. Bobby wouldn't let John kill him, but Sam couldn't be too sure. His father always managed to get his way, at least until he managed to escape to college. But really, he should have known better. Six years of radio silence from his father and brother should have been a clear indication that it was just the calm before the storm. He was a Winchester; there's no way he should have expected to be left alone for that long and not have something incredibly tragic and traumatizing happen.

Making his decision, he turned his head to face Bobby and asked, "Hey, do you know anyone with the last name of Milligan?"

"Milligan?" Bobby frowned. "Doesn't sound familiar. Why?"

"This is going to sound crazy," Sam said slowly. "But I've been having...dreams."

"You're a little too old to get the talk, Sam," Bobby grumbled. "I figured that you'd know your way around by now-"

"Jesus, no," Sam cut him off. "Not those kind of dreams!"

"Then what the hell are you talking about?"

Sam took a deep breath. "A few months ago, I had dreams of Jess and Emily dying, on the ceiling of our apartment. And then it came true."

Bobby swerved the car onto the shoulder of the road and stomped on the break. John's truck continued speeding down the highway, not yet noticing that it was no longer being followed. "Sam, what happened to Sam and Jess wasn't your fault," Bobby replied firmly. "You don't have to make up these things to-"

"I'm not making it up!" Sam snapped. "For months, I had dreams of Jess and Emily dying, and I ignored it because I didn't want to believe it was real. And then they died in the exact same way as my dreams. And it wasn't just Jess and Emily, Bobby, that I was dreaming about. There was someone else there when they died, two other people. And they keep popping up every time I close my eyes. And last night, I dreamed about them killing someone named Adam, and how apparently my dad would be upset to have lost another Winchester." Bobby stared at him, mouth agape. "I know this isn't normal, okay, but I had to tell someone about this. It feels like I'm going insane, and I want the dreams to stop but I don't know why they started in the first place."

Sam's rant left him breathless. He slumped back against the seat, exhausted and content. The dreams, or the nightmares as they were more bad than good, were draining him, and it felt amazing to finally let someone else know what was going on. Maybe he really was going insane, and maybe his brain was trying to help him cope by creating some crazy, supernatural plot that revolved around his feelings of guilt that came from not going after Dean and not being open with Jess while they were still around.

Every second he spent on the road was healing him and also hurting him. He hated that he had run away from his home, hadn't even put effort into the funerals of his wife and children, but he couldn't do it. Even if he had stayed there, he would have been an empty shell, going days without bathing and eating. If not for his father, Sam knew that he would probably still be laying on the motel bed in a state of extreme disorientation, uncaring of the world around him and unaffected by anything other than his own grief. Leaving Palo Alto filled him with purpose, filled him with an energy that he hadn't had in a long time. However, he knew that once he'd finally gotten his revenge on the YED, he had nothing to do with himself afterwards. Sam didn't think that he'd ever be able to go back to Palo Alto, or go back to his job at the law firm. He left hunting to be a lawyer, and now he's leaving his lawyer days behind to dive head first back into hunting. There wouldn't be a second chance to get out after this. He was in it until death.

"Sam," Bobby said slowly, as if Sam were a dangerous animal that was seconds away from lunging for the jugular, "Are you sure this isn't just your head screwing with you?" At Sam's nod, Bobby heaved a sigh. "Then we'll research it. I believe that you aren't insane, but these dreams couldn't have just come out of nowhere. Maybe a witch has been screwing with your for a while, must've been working for the YED."

"Then they'd have to have been undercover for decades then, Bobby," Sam groaned, letting his head flop back against the headrest, his hair brushing against his cheeks in their unkempt state. "This probably will make this entire thing sound worse, but...I've been having dreams like this since I was a kid, Bobby, I just never said anything because Dean was always there to make me forget and we both agreed that Dad shouldn't know."

"What the actual fuck, Sam!" Bobby yelled. "You've been dreaming the future since you were a kid and you never thought to mention it!"

"Oh, yeah, and get my head blown off by the Righteous John Winchester?" Sam scoffed. "Give me a break! Dean and I were freaked out as it was, but they stopped when I hit the seventh grade, and so we never saw the need to bring it back up! You have to understand Bobby, back then, the dreams were a lot worse to me physically. I had bloody noses, splitting headaches, and for years these episodes went on, and Dad never gave a single fuck! He was just convinced that I was being a little bitch about having to run laps in a hundred degree heat. Pardon me, and Dean, for coming to the realization that John Winchester didn't give a shit about our health."

"And how do you expect we keep this from him, anyways?" Bobby demanded. "If you're dreaming about another Winchester, about a person in your family, your father is our best bet in finding out who the hell Adam is, and how he's involved in all of this. Despite his fault, and he has a lot of them, your Dad is a damn good hunter. Arrogant, stubborn, and annoying as hell, but good at what he does. Whatever's going on in your head, whoever has been sending these visions to you, he could help decipher them. I know my way around the lore, but it's been a while since I've been on the field, and although I've been a hunter longer than your dad, I have to admit that John has a more hands on approach to the supernatural, so there is a chance that he knows something that I haven't yet discovered."

"I know," the young Winchester muttered. "I know I'll have to tell him, but I just don't know how to! Every time I think about telling him, every time I think about sharing secrets, I just flashback to all the times he left Dean and I alone for weeks without food or money while he went off to do God knows what; to how he treated us like objects instead of children with physical, emotional, and mental limits; to how he swore we could talk to him about anything but then he'd turn around and tear us a new one of we dared not be the perfect robots he wanted us to be. A part of me is feeling a very strong sense of vindictive justice at keeping this from him. It's just so rare to have something over that man, and even now, with everything that's happened, I can't erase that feeling of knowing something that he doesn't.

"And with Jess and Emily," Sam's jaw clenched. "I'm so angry with Dad, but grateful, too, because I wanted to be there for their funerals, but I do not think that I could take it, and maybe he knew that, maybe he remembered what it was like when he lost Mom, but deep inside it doesn't feel like he had my best interests at heart. I want to believe that he was trying to help me by taking me away from Palo Alto and bringing me back into hunting, but I can't shake the feeling that he did that for himself, because he was lonely without Dean at his heels and he needed a soldier at his beck and call again to feel comfortable. The YED was one thing, Bobby, but Dean being involved in this, too? Jesus Christ, it's like no one in this family gets a break! And Dad was prepared to cut his losses without a second thought! He's always been quick to cut ties and burn bridges with other people, but heaven forbid someone does that to him! It's like he doesn't even care that Dean is in the villainous clutches of that yellow eyed bastard, he's just upset because Dean was "careless". It's like he can't stop being a hunter for one god damned second and be a father."

"You don't think I know that?" Bobby agreed. "I remember when he first brought you boys to my house. It drove me crazy, Sam, to see how he treated you two. You never took the brunt of it because Dean shielded you, but if it was so awful living with him from your perspective, can you imagine what it was like for Dean? That boy didn't want to be a hunter, Sam, and it killed him to have to give up what he wanted to take care of you. That isn't to say that he didn't love you, but just because he loved you didn't mean that he didn't want anything for himself. Dean was more of a father to you than John ever was; that boy raised you, taught you how to talk, walk, and read. John was physically there for those milestones, but never emotionally. Never mentally. Ever since his wife died, you and Dean took the back burner, and no matter how much pain he was in, that wasn't okay. I called him out on his shit several times, Sam, several times! But he wouldn't hear it!

"Always went off on a rant about how he knew what was best for you two, and he didn't like being told that he wasn't even around enough to know what was best for your two. I tried to give you and Dean a good time whenever you came to stay with me. Went out and got good food to cook, bought some baseballs to play catch, even rented movies. I tried to give you and your brother something of a childhood, but it seemed like John always destroyed whatever progress I had made. And then there was the day when he took you away for good." Bobby shook his head, thinking back on the memory that ended with him holding his shot gun as John Winchester and his sons sped away.

"You did the best that you could," Sam whispered. "I know you did. But Dad...you wanted Dean and I to have a life that didn't revolve around hunting. Dad didn't want that for us, he looked down on me every time I demanded normal. If he was willing to kick me out of the family over a Stanford scholarship, can you imagine what he'd do once he finds out I have some twisted version of premonition? It's hard enough trying to function with everything that's happened in the past few days, I don't need to stress myself out even more by constantly looking over my shoulder to make sure he's not pointing a gun at me."

"Then you won't tell him," Bobby decided. Sam opened his mouth to protest by the older man continued, "I will tell him. I don't know how I'm going to broach the topic, but soon, I will tell him. I have to catch him in a good mood, preferably when he hasn't had anything to drink or doesn't have a gun on him."

"Thank you, Bobby." Sam's love for Bobby increased tenfold. Bobby Singer was always looking out for people, even when they let him down.

"Don't mention it," Bobby grumbled. "In the mean time, can you keep it together?"

"I'll give it my best shot."

The moment was over as the amicable silence was interrupted by the loud rumbling of a truck. Looking up, Sam could see his father's truck coming back around the bend. He didn't have to see his father's face to know that he was pissed. John had probably gone a few miles without realizing that they weren't behind him. The truck made a sharp turn and pulled onto the shoulder in front of Bobby's truck, John hopping out.

"What the hell are you two doing?" John snapped.

"We had a bit of car troubles," Bobby replied after rolling the window down. "We were just about to get back on the road."

John stared at the both of them, clearly suspicious. Sam kept his face blank.

"Well, hurry it up," John groused. "We don't have all day."

Back on the road, John found himself throwing glances up at the rearview mirror to make sure Bobby and Sam were behind him. He could admit to himself that earlier, when he'd looked up and they were gone, he'd gone into a panic, his first thought was that the YED had taken them out right from under his nose. He had swerved back around, nearly sending himself careening off the road, and had already taken his spare gun out of the glove compartment.

Finding Bobby and Sam just chilling on the side of the road sent alarms off in his head, and their weak excuse made him even more tense. When he had come back around the bend, even from a distance he could see that whatever they were talking about, it was serious, something deep. When he stared at them questioningly, it bothered him that they didn't seem bothered to share whatever they were so deeply discussing.

He wanted to pester them, to pry and force them to share whatever secrets they thought he didn't deserve to know, but he wasn't sure he would remain sane after another tear down session from Bobby. That old grouch was capable of holding a grudge, something John learned the hard way, with his head nearly blown off as a consequence of his actions. It didn't matter if he and Bobby were after the same thing on this little mission of theirs; Bobby wouldn't hesitant to tear him a new one and make him hate himself even more than he already did. It was something that John both admired and hated about the older man, his bluntness and knowing gazes, force-feeding people the truth whether they wanted it or not.

Sighing, John reached a hand down to rummage through a small box of cassette tapes only to realize that he didn't have the tapes anymore, they were in the Impala, which he had left with Dean.

Speaking of Dean, John narrowed his eyes as he looked back up through the rearview window to stare at Bobby. He hadn't had the chance to call the man on it, but ever since they had linked up at the motel, John had an inkling that Bobby had more information on Dean disappearance. To be fair, John could admit that he hadn't been paying as much attention as he should to his eldest son, but that was in the past. Bobby shouldn't continue to hold that against him, not if they wanted to successfully work together to figure out what happened to Dean and how he could be saved.

And could he be saved? When Sam had suggested it, he wanted to shake his head at the foolishness. Sam had always been the overly optimistic one, always looking for light in an area where there was nothing but darkness. John hadn't wanted to say it to Sam's face, but he believed that Sam's determination to save Dean stemmed from his guilt over what happened to Jessica and Emily. It was tragic, John acknowledged, but that pain, that rage? It made the motivation and drive in a man stronger. Sam would find that when his body felt like it was on the verge of collapse, all he'd have to do is look back on his wife and child's dead body, and he'd be instantly rejuvenated, ready for rounds two, three, and four.

But, John thought with a wince. Sam was...not weak. No, that wasn't the proper word. He certainly wasn't as strong as Dean, not physically, emotionally, or mentally. Sam always had something holding him back, always going on and on about living a normal life, seemingly uncaring of the dangers that were walking the planet. For as long as the boy could talk, John could spend weeks reminiscing about the years Sam spent demanding to stay at one school, pleading to be on the soccer team, screaming about how he wished he wasn't a Winchester, and yet at the same time, thinking he deserved his father's and Dean's unwavering protecting and placations.

There were times where John really thought he'd strangle the boy, whip his little neck back and forth as he shook some sense back into him. John hated always being the bad guy, hated that Sam didn't appreciate how much his father gave up for him. John and Dean spent endless blood, sweat, and tears keeping Sam safe, keeping him fed and clothed, and that boy repaid them by complaining about everything he could possibly complain about.

When Dean was around, John realized that he rarely had to be directly involved in one of Sam's tantrums, leaving that bundle of childish emotions to his eldest son to handle. And now, John was having a hard time emotionally connecting to his son. Letting Dean do the dirty work for decades caused a rift the size of the Grand Canyon between John and Sam, and John was having difficultly trying to close that distance. It seemed like every time he tried to reach out to Sam in ways that only he knew how, Sam deflected, uninterested in his father's too late actions of fatherhood.

John had to admit that he shouldn't have let it gotten this far. That night when Sam revealed he was going to Stanford, they both said words that shouldn't have been said, and the second Sam chose a school over his family, in John's eyes, he deserved to be disowned. But now, John's stomach twisted harshly at the thought of sending Sam away again. He wouldn't admit it if asked, but ever since his sons left, he was feeling incredibly lonely. Sure, over the years he had visited his youngest son, his Adam-

And shit, that was another shit storm waiting to happen. John wanted to slam his face against the steering wheel. He had forgotten that Adam had never met Dean and Sam, and now that his family was falling apart, he was afraid that a family reunion might be coming up soon. John knew exactly how this sons would react if they caught wind of Adam. Dean would pretend that everything was okay but would become unbearably cold and distant, and perhaps even fall back into a bout of silence like he had when Mary first died. And Sam, oh boy. Sam would go on a rampage, his entire body would explode into a burning inferno of self righteousness and rage; he'd no doubt demand to know why Adam was deemed worthy of having birthday parties and living in one house while going go one school while he, Sam, lived in filthy motel rooms living off greasy diner food in threadbare clothing.

If it was just Sam that John had to worry about, he didn't think he'd be so worried. He could handle Sam. That boy may be a man now, but John was still his father and he demanded respect. The problem with this was Bobby's presence. Bobby, having never been a fan of John Winchester, would surely take the opposing side, might even convince Sam to cut ties with his father yet again as they searched for a way to save Dean and get back at the YED. Hell, Bobby and Sam might even give up the fight with the YED out of spite.

"I just need to take this one step at a time," John mumbled to himself, drumming his fingers against his steering wheel. "Tackle one problem before going on to the next one." Only that was much more easier said than done. His plans had a habit of going wildly off the rails whenever his sons were involved, and any further plans might go up in flames once Sam got his blood pumping.

Throwing another glance at Bobby's car, a furl of disappointment and hurt settled in John's chest as he watched Sam smile, the first sign of positive emotion he'd displayed for days. John tried very hard not to think about why Sam never smiled at him like that.

"Is it time to bring John's attention to this?"

Alastair arched an eyebrow at the carnage, impressed. He had only actively taught Dean for a few sessions, and for the rest he silently observed. Dean Winchester was his best student, the best he'd had in what seemed like forever. Fueled by pure rage and hate, Dean had swiftly exceeded all expectations and became quite the twisted son of a bitch. In Hell, Dean's work had been phenomenal, and it had always brought a smile to Alastair's face to see the souls so torn apart and desperate, falling apart at the seams as they tried to hold onto their humanity. On Earth, Dean's work was...unparalleled.

Adam and Kate Milligan's insides were strewn about the kitchen, a shriveled pouch that might have been a kidney laying on the floor, a foot imprint on side, indicating that Dean had stepped on it as he left. The sink, the counters, and every other available surface was covered in blood. The blood wasn't fresh, since Dean had killed them days ago, but there was so much of it that it hadn't quite managed to dry yet. There was still the occasional wet patch.

Two tables were in the middle of the kitchen, one body on each. Their eyes, having still been open when they died, were staring to decay a bit, and if one looked close enough, they could see little bugs scrambling over the bloody tables and floors, looking for something to chow down on. In their last moments, the two Milligan's had reached across the distance and grasped hands, a mother trying to comfort her dying child.

"I believe so," Azazel murmured, eyes taking in the scene. He smiled once his eyes landed on Adam. "I must say, I am quite pleased with Dean's work. He never disappoints me."

"You're lucky you got your claws in him when you did," Alastair agreed. "Otherwise, he might not have been so easy to manipulate."

"Of course, I do have Ruby to thank for Dean joining our little family. Without her intel, we probably would have never been able to track him and set him up in the woods."

"It does seem like poetic justice, doesn't it?" Alastair smiled. "You killed Mary in Lawerence, Kansas, and you did the same to Dean." He trailed his index finger along Kate Milligan's throat and sucked the blood off, savoring the taste. "And what will you do if Dean figures out it was you who damned him to hell?"

"He'll do nothing except be grateful to me for saving him," Azazel promised. "After all, Dean never would have been to easy to take care of if John and Sam Winchester stopped thinking about themselves for once." Turning to face the younger demon, he continued, "Possess one of the neighbors and get them over here, then disappear. The police will assume it was the work of a serial killer no doubt and put the report on the news. John will catch wind of it soon. Seeing as how Sammy isn't being forthcoming about his visions, we'll have to tell John about his son's demise ourselves."