* Chapter 2: Epiphany *

Sam woke to find that his pocket was vibrating. Disorientated, it took him a moment for the pieces to come together in his head. He sat up with a jolt, scrambling for the phone in his jeans. This time he knew Dean would not be on the other end.

Sam rubbed his eyes, waiting for the world to come into focus. "Hello?"

"Hello Sam. I'm standing outside," said Castiel. "I don't have a key."

"Oh, of course, right. I'll be right up," replied Sam, getting to his feet with apparent effort.

Sam returned Dean's cell to his pocket, but not before checking the time. He had been asleep for just over six hours. He took a cursory glance around the bedroom, but there was still no sign of Dean. He hadn't expected his brother to suddenly rematerialize, but stranger things had happened. He felt his heart drop back into his stomach – a sensation that was becoming unpleasantly familiar.

Sam walked slowly towards the door, making it just through the doorway before he found himself hesitating. There was that thought again, the one he had before he fell asleep. He turned back towards Dean's bed, eyebrows knotted together. Whatever his inner voice was trying to tell him, it was just beyond his grasp. He took a step back into the room. He stretched his mind, but instead of getting hold of the thought, he ended up pushing it further away, just as he did as a child trying to reach a can of beans on the top shelf. If only Dean was here. He always got the beans down for him.

Sam greeted Castiel at the entrance to the bunker, and they walked in silence down the winding staircase to the main hall. Castiel approached one of the large mahogany tables and set two grocery bags down. The plastic crinkled noisily, the contents producing a dull thump against the hard wood. Sam stood behind Castiel, shoulders drooping, regarding the bags impassively. Under normal circumstances he would be happy to see this friendly face, but there was nothing normal about this situation. He heaved an involuntary sigh and ran his fingers through his hair. Castiel turned and regarded Sam's face for a moment, his sharp blue eyes seeing all. Castiel took a step towards Sam and embraced him tightly. He felt Sam wilt slightly in his arms.

"It's good to see you again Sam. You look terrible."

"Thanks Cas," sighed Sam, patting Castiel's back before gently pulling away. "So how did things go with Metatron? I'm assuming well because you're still here."

Castiel looked down at the table. "Gadreel is dead. He was a brave soldier. He sacrificed himself for the cause."

Sam was unaffected by the news of Gadreel, the angel who had tricked Dean into allowing him to inhabit Sam's body for months. Gadreel, the traitor who used Sam's own hands to murder Kevin Tran, a close friend of theirs.

"And Metatron? Is he dead too?"

An item in one of the bags shifted, rustling the plastic.

Sam bent down slightly, and tilted his head sharply, trying to catch Castiel's gaze. "And Metatron?"

"We have Metatron locked in Heaven's dungeon."

Sam gritted his teeth and swallowed hard. "He killed Dean, Cas."

"I know," Castiel sighed.

Sam clenched his fists. He could feel his heartbeat increasing, his anger rising. "He doesn't deserve to live!"

Castiel raised his head and looked Sam in the eye. "There has been enough blood shed already. I'm sorry Sam."

Sam's nostrils flared, he opened his mouth to speak, but closed it again when he saw Castiel straightening his posture, scowling. The two friends looked at one another over the tabletop, unmoving, the air around them thickening with every passing moment. Castiel knew that hostilities were going to get them nowhere fast. He broke the gaze, looking down at the objects on the table.

"I brought you these."

Castiel indicated the two bags in front of him. Sam looked between Castiel and the bags, tilting his head slightly and furrowing his brows. He stepped forward and cautiously reached into one of the bags. He pulled out a six-pack of beer. Despite himself, a small chuckle escaped his lips.

"Thanks a lot Cas, but I really—"

"The clerk called them 'brewskis'. I think he was Canadian. I thought maybe you could do with one. You know, considering."

Sam was touched by the gesture. He pulled one of the bottles from the case, twisted the cap off, and brought the bottle to his lips. He paused briefly, memories of drinking with Dean at the forefront of his mind, and then he took a long deep swig. The smell of hops overwhelmed his senses, but the golden bodied brew was smooth in his mouth, and the bubbles fizzled lightly against his tongue. He tasted hints of caramel under the heavy malt profile. Dean would have loved this beer. Sam finished drinking and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He tilted the head of the bottle towards the second bag.

"What's in the other one?"

"Breakfast."

"What?"

Castiel moved to the other bag and began unloading its contents onto the table. Sam took another mouthful of his drink, planting himself on one of the chairs.

"I picked up a few tricks as my time as a human. The first thing I learned was how important food was to my body. I thought maybe I could make some eggs for you and we could talk about what's going on—"

Sam stiffened, and the look on his face stopped Castiel in his tracks. Sam stared through Castiel, and the color slowing drained from his face. His was mouth slightly agape and he held his beer with such force that his knuckles turned white.

"Sam?"

Sam blinked rapidly, coming back to life. He exploded out of the chair, dropping the empty bottle down onto the table, paying no attention to the sound of shattering glass. He bolted out of the main foyer, and raced down the gray concrete corridor,. Castiel was not far behind.

"SAM! WHAT IS IT? SAM!"

Sam could hear the yells following him as he raced towards Dean's bedroom. His heart was stuck in his throat. He couldn't speak. He hoped that somehow he was mistaken - That the thought that had been pounding at his skull all day was wrong. If it weren't, it changed everything.