It wasn't Detroit. It was Chicago, the outskirts of Chicago, in a boarded up and abandoned warehouse.

It's a sign of the times, Sam thought, squeezing his bulk through the narrow opening between a sheet of plywood and a broken window. These places are so easy to find anymore. Abandoned homes too since the foreclosure crisis. I wonder if that would have happened if we hadn't triggered the Apocalypse?

They'd spent the night in a house that might have cost a quarter of a million, probably did at one point. Now it was virtually a ruin. The previous owners trashed it prior to being evicted for not paying their mortgage. Sam and Dean had seen the same thing countless times before over the past year, and were, in a backward kind of way, grateful. If anything the current sorry state of the economy had provided them with much better living conditions. Sometimes people abandoned not only their homes, but their furniture.

If I had a future I'd seriously consider getting one of those sleep number beds.

Sam fell in behind Dean, and together they made their way to the center of a large, brightly lit room. It was completely empty. The expansive concrete floor had been neatly swept, and upon it had been drawn a pentagram filled with symbols Sam had never seen before. A large square encompassed the pentagram's circle, and at each corner was drawn smaller circles, within which lay the four Horsemans' rings.

North, South, East, West. This is big. This is real big. That's why we needed Castiel and Bobby too.

Castiel stood at the Southernmost point. Bobby guarded the West. Castiel had doffed his trench coat and rolled up the sleeves of his shirt. In his hands was one of the Archangel's swords they'd acquired. Dean had another, and Bobby a third. One of them, the one Bobby now presented to Sam, had once belong to Lucifer. They'd taken it from Uriel, and where he came up with it was anybody's guess. Dean had Gabriel's. Sam had no knowledge of where the last one came from, the one in Castiel's hand.

Sam figured he had two options. First and foremost he could regain control enough to get Lucifer to step into their trap and thus back into imprisonment. If he failed this, he would attempt to turn the sword on himself, destroying Lucifer in that manner. As a last resort, if Sam could do neither of these things, Castiel and Dean were prepared to attack.

Dean took his place at the North. Sam moved to the center of the circle.

"Lucifer will come in from the East," Castiel murmured softly. "He is the Morning Star." He came to Sam and put a hand on his chest. A quick burning sensation inside made Sam gasp. The angel had removed the sigils etched into his bones.

Sam thought he was done, but he wasn't. Instead of removing his hand and walking away, Castiel grasped a handful of Sam's shirt and pulled him in closer. "I have no faith in you," the angel whispered. "You're a fool, Sam, with no idea what you're opening yourself up to. Dean has a clue, he's been to Hell. Being possessed by an archangel, particularly this archangel, is worse. Your torment will. Never. End."

That said, Castiel released him, and returned to his position at the Southern corner. Dean moved in next, jerking his head toward the scowling angel.

"What'd he say?"

"I'm fucked," Sam replied, and winced to hear the waver in his voice. He was scared, now more than ever. "He said I'm fucked."

"Well, hooray for Captain Obvious."

Sam glared. "Thanks, Dean."

"Hey, this is your dance, Sammy. You can't fault us for having doubts given your sterling reputation for making smart decisions."

"You know, until now I've resisted the temptation to remind you that the first seal was your dance."

Oh, that was a bad idea.

Dean's expression hardened. He pulled no punches, nailing Sam to the wall with his retort. "Yeah, and there's a big difference between getting your rocks off with Ruby and having them cut off by Alistair. Nobody twisted your arm, Sam. You did this to yourself. You put yourself in this position. So if your plan to make up for your screw-up works, fine, that's great. If it doesn't...." Dean paused, staring into Sam's eyes for a long, tumultuous moment before concluding, "God help your soul."

Sam couldn't watch him walk away. He looked everywhere but at his brother, fighting back tears, knowing he couldn't afford to show any vulnerability to Lucifer. Tightening his grip on the hilt of the sword in his hand, he let physical pain distract him. He heard Castiel murmuring the words of a summoning spell and raised his own voice to the mix.

"All right you son-of-a-bitch! Here I am! Come get me!"

Castiel's chanting fell silent. The whole room fell silent, making the sibilant whisper that came out of the darkest corner seem all the more chilling.

"There's no need to shout."

Sam flinched, cursed under his breath. He hadn't expected the bastard to show up so quickly, and he was not, as Castiel predicted, coming in from the East where the "door" to their trap sat stood open. His voice had issued from the North, just to the right of where Dean stood.

Lucifer moved out of the shadows. His "temporary" vessel looked even more dog-eared than before, slowly but surely deteriorating, unable to contain the spirit inside it. Sam wondered uneasily if the original owner of the body was still in there somewhere, gradually losing his mind even as his body rotted around him. It wasn't a pleasant thought.

"Nor go to such elaborate measures to entertain me," Lucifer added with a slight sneer. "Come on, Dean," he said, rolling an eye in Dean's direction. "There's only one use for those rings, and it's to corral me. I was expecting something like this all the way back to the day you acquired your first from War."

Dean's lip curled in a snarl. "Then you know you're going down."

Lucifer smiled congenially. "No, sorry. I'm afraid I'm not."

He raised a hand, and would have, with just a quick flip of his wrist, sent Dean crashing through a bank of glass windows, which in turn would open up to a second story drop straight down to the pavement. It would have, had Sam not anticipated this move. His arm shot up, and as if in hand-to-hand combat, he blocked the blow. Where the two conflicting energies met, just yards from Dean, a spray of sparks erupted. Dean flinched but remained in position. The sparks faded away into the air.

Lucifer looked startled – at first. He turned on Castiel in a rage, only to realize it had not been the angel. Slowly he cocked his head and focused on Sam instead.

Sam gathered himself, holding back the pure, blind fury he felt toward this creature, fury that might lead him to attempt a head-to-head battle he would surely loose. He spread his legs slightly and raised his chin, holding the sword in an attitude of challenge. This display of body language did not escape Lucifer. With a sour smile he suddenly moved, too fast for the human eye to follow, reappearing directly in front of Sam.

Before Sam knew what was happening, the sword had been wrenched from his hand, and hurled away toward Castiel. At the same moment Lucifer jerked his head toward Bobby and sent the wheelchair careening off into the wall. Sam heard Dean shout Bobby's name, and an incoherent shriek from Cas, but he could not turn his head to look. His eyes were locked onto Lucifer's. He couldn't move, could barely breathe. The stench of rotting flesh was nearly overwhelming. A trickle of pus rolled down Lucifer's cheek like a dirty yellow teardrop.

"Ah, Sammy," the devil whispered, touching Sam's cheek lightly with his fingertips. "Did you really believe you could use the power I gave you, against me? Huh?" He cocked his head, looking intently into Sam's eyes. "You don't think I can feel it in you?" His lips parted slightly. "I can taste it in your breath." His eyes closed as he moved his face even closer to Sam's. They opened again as he inhaled deeply. "I can smell it on your skin. You're mine, and you always have been."

Sam managed to turn his head slightly. Castiel had moved back into his peripheral vision, clutching both swords in one hand. His free hand was clamped over his shoulder from which a brilliant crimson stain spread slowly across his white shirt. He was always pale, but what little he had was now gone beneath the sheen of sweat covering his face. The pain he felt showed only in the clenched jaw of his determined expression.

Behind him Sam picked up the faint murmur of voices, including Bobby's - "I'm okay, go! Go!" and the sound of Dean's boots shuffling across the concrete floor. He could smell the sharp bite of the holy oil Dean poured out along the outermost lines of the circle, and heard the soft "wuff" of a match bursting into light.

Lucifer's eyes narrowed.

"Yes," Sam said quickly, breathlessly drawing Lucifer's attention away from what the others were doing. "I'm yours. YES!"

"Good boy," Lucifer whispered. He shot out one arm and grasped Sam by the throat. " You've made a very wise decision."

Sam had his doubts, especially only seconds later when his senses were completely obliterated by a firestorm of white light and agonizing pain.