"I'm only trying to look out for your best interests," Lucifer pesters me as I walk down the street, hugging the paper bag, "You and Dean will only make each other miserable. It's best if you just stick with me. You don't need anyone but your big brother."

I want to tell him that he's not my big brother, that he's a hallucination, and that even if he were Lucifer that would hardly be a reason to trust him. But I'm on a busy street and I'd rather not arouse too much suspicion. I walk in silence.

"Giving me the cold shoulder?" he says, weaving in and out of my path, "That hurts, Castiel. You'd better get used to me. I'm the only company you're going to have for a very, very long time."

It doesn't take me long to decide that I had been foolish not to call Dean back at the gas station. I had let Lucifer get to me. If I could just talk to Dean, everything would be fine again. I just need privacy. Lucifer will surely try to keep me from making the call, and I don't want anyone nearby to notice that I'm hearing voices.

The next house I pass appears empty- all the lights are off and there are no cars in the driveway. With a quick glance down the street in both directions, I confirm that no one is watching before I wing my way inside. Sure enough, no one is home. I find a phone and sit down on the couch to work up the nerve to dial it.

"This again?" says Lucifer, suddenly perched above the fireplace, "I thought we'd been over this, Castiel."

Since there is no one to hear, I indulge him by answering, "Dean may regret my mental difficulties, but he would rather know where I am than be left wondering." I begin to dial the number, trying to get through it before Lucifer convinces me otherwise.

Lucifer shakes his head sadly. "I didn't want to bring this up," he says, "But you're just not getting the hint. Kid, after all the things you put him through, he doesn't want to see you. He doesn't want to have anything to do with you. Hell, even if you manage to work up the nerve to call him, I doubt he'd even bother to come pick you up."

"That's not true," I say, dialing slower and slower with each number, "He was happy to see me even when I didn't remember him."

"Well, yeah," says Lucifer, shrugging, "Back when he needed you to fix Sam's head."

"And I did," I say. Dean's number flashes on the phone's display, but I have not yet pressed the call button. "I saved Sam. I redeemed myself."

Lucifer laughs out loud, shaking so hard that he almost falls off the lintel. "You think that was even close to enough?" he hoots, "Have you forgotten about the Leviathans? You made up for one tiny, little mistake when you fixed Sam up. Actually, you don't even really deserve credit for that, since you were only repairing the damage that you did to him. But none of that changes the fact that you started the damned apocalypse. The apocalypse that Dean is now trying to avert."

"He forgave me," I say fiercely as I press the button. The phone begins to ring. But then doubt hits me. Did Dean really say that? All the memories from around that time are so warped. I'm almost certain that Dean forgave me at some point, but I can't say exactly when or in what words.

Lucifer doesn't even bother attacking my weak memories. He can do better than that. "Aw, and it's really precious that you believed him," he says, "Come on, Castiel. He was leaving you in a loony bin. He knew he was never going to see you again. Sure, he might have thrown you a bone as he scooted out the door, but he didn't offer to take you with him, did he?"

The phone clicks. Faintly, I hear Dean's voice say, "Hello?"

But Lucifer's words have already begun to work on me. All he has to do is add, "He left you behind for a reason, Castiel. He never wanted to hear from you again."

"Is anyone there?" the voice on the other end of the line says as I throw the phone against the wall, shattering into a dozen pieces.

There is a little cemetery right outside of town. That's where I end up wandering. Lucifer follows at a distance, seeming pleased with the effect his words have had on me. He doesn't bother adding to them yet; he just lets me stew on what he has said.

If I were in my right mind, it would be easy to tell the truth from the lies the way I do with my visual hallucinations. But there is something about the way he speaks. Somehow his words worm their way into my brain and lodge there, twisting and eating at me. He could tell me the most blatant falsehood imaginable and my addled ears would hear a ring of truth in it, so what chance do I have when he tells me things that seem so very reasonable?

I try to remind myself that he isn't real, but then perhaps it would be easier if he were. At least then he wouldn't be inside my head with access to my deepest and most painful doubts. If he were real, the worst he could do is kill me.

I sit at the base of an angel statue and stare across the field, wondering what I will do with the rest of my life if I cannot return to Heaven or go to Dean. What is left for me here?

"You're better off without him," says Lucifer, settling down beside me as if he is my friend.

"He may be better off without me," I admit, "But I need him. I will always need him."

Lucifer sighs in exasperation. "You poor idiot," he says, "You never did catch on to the way he was using you from the very beginning."

And at that my heart freezes cold. Not because I believe him, but because my memories from before are my one refuge. The one place that Lucifer hasn't touched. But now he attacks them, warping them before my eyes, twisting them to suit his argument before he has even begun to make it. I want to run, but I can't run from what is inside me. "Stop it," I groan, grinding the heels of my hands into my eyes.

"Think about it," he wheedles, "You were always a tool to him. A weapon. Did he ever show you an ounce of kindness when he didn't need something from you?"

Of course he did. Many times. I just can't think of any of them now that my memories are all jumbled.

"And that's before he found out you were working with Crowley," Lucifer continues, "Yowza. I took a peek back at those memories when you were catatonic, and man is that fucked up. All the times he worked with demons, and he disowns you for that? Think about the way he treated you. Face it. He's never cared about you."

I shouldn't have come out here. Now I'm trapped, alone with Lucifer. There's no one here to distract me from him. "No," I try to say, "He was trying to stop me. To protect me. I was wrong about Crowley. I was wrong about Purgatory."

"But he didn't know that," says Lucifer, "All he knew was that you were starting to have a mind of your own."

I am curling in on myself, trying to keep him out. "No, that's not it," I sob, "He always wanted me to make my own decisions."

Lucifer almost sounds sad as he says, "No, little brother. He wanted you to do as he said. To follow his orders instead of Heaven's. And as soon as you stopped doing that, the moment you truly started thinking for yourself… he turned on you."

It doesn't really matter whether he is telling the truth or not anymore. All I know is that I can't bear to live like this, with Lucifer as my only company. If I can't go back to Dean, and I can't live alone, then I really only have one way out.

I turn my hand over, and my blade is clenched in my fist. Lucifer looks down at it and nods. "That might be best," he says as if it hasn't been his plan all along.

It's amazing how quickly I am becoming accustomed to the idea of suicide. There is no doubt in my mind. There is only a question of logistics. Should I fall on my sword? Attempt to cut my throat? Which would be quickest? I cannot wait to meet that sweet oblivion, where Lucifer can't hurt me and I don't have to think about the possibility that everything Dean ever told me was a lie.

As I fit the pommel of my sword to a notch in the base of the statue, pressing the blade to my chest to see if the angle is right, Lucifer eggs me on. "That's it, little brother," he says, "It can all be over. Don't worry about Dean. He'll be happier once you've gone. He never loved you."

I am actually about to let the blade take my weight when the meaning of his words hits me. He is telling me that Dean never loved me, even though love has never entered into our arguments before. What possible reason could he have for telling me this, unless there is some truth there that he is trying to hide from me?

Even as I kneel there, the tip of my sword resting over my heart, I close my eyes and search my fractured memories for some hint, some clue. It comes to me in a flash. No context, no timeframe. Just a sensation. Just Dean's lips pressed to mine.

Is it real? Is the ghost of a sensation on my lips a fading memory, or a particularly vivid fantasy? There is no way to know for sure. There is only my faith.

I stand. The blade falls to the ground.

"Don't chicken out now!" Lucifer whines.

I look down at him, dazed. "I think…" I choke out, "I think Dean loved me, once."

Lucifer closes his eyes, the picture of long-suffering frustration. "Little brother," he sighs, "This is getting really pathetic."

"No," I say, my voice stronger now, "You're not real. Everything you've said… you're just trying to confuse me."

He rolls his eyes. "I'd actually say I'm succeeding," he says, "So are you going to kill yourself or not?"

With a wave of my hand, my blade disappears again. I don't so much as glance at Lucifer as I scoop up the bag with my coat in it and stride back toward the road.

He bounces after me, calling out, screaming abuse, but his voice is just so much background noise to me now. I know what I have to do. I must take advantage of this brief moment of clarity before I sink back into the pit of my despair.

There is an elderly woman walking past the cemetery. I rush out to meet her, saying, "Please, do you have a cell phone?"

She raises her bag as if to hit me, but then she takes a second look at me. "You look like you've been through hell," she says.

"In a more literal sense than you could possibly be aware of," I assure her, "A phone? Please?"

She regards me dubiously, but finally she pulls a cell phone out of her bag. "If you run off with it," she says as she hands it over, "May the Lord strike you down."

"That's not likely," I mutter as I dial Dean's number as fast as I can. Lucifer's voice is going non-stop in my ear, but I am still able to block it out for just a little longer.

When Dean's voice comes in through the phone, the first thing he says is, "Meg, is that you? Have you found him yet?"

It is so far from what I was expecting that all I can say is, "What?"

I have to hold the phone away from my ear for a moment as all I can hear is the screech of tires. When it is over, there is a short pause before Dean bellows into the phone, "CAS?"

I tell him where I am. "Please, Dean," I say, "I'm sorry about everything. Just please come get me. I need help."

"Shut up," he says, "Don't move. We're on our way."