Thank you so much Jenjoremy, Gredelina1 and SandraEngstrom2 for being the best beta/pre-reader/cheerleader team ever. Thank you for the reviews. I really appreciate the support.

Chapter Two

Sam had been able to get Castiel's body away from the scene without being observed due to the late hour, but there was nothing he could do about the marks of enormous wings on the ground. They were going to remain a mystery for civilians to mull over.

It felt worse than wrong to drive with the angel on the back seat. It reminded him of that damned journey in Montana after the hounds had come. But he had to do it. He owed it to the angel that had been prepared to die to save him and to the man he had been using as a vessel to give them both a proper funeral. To some people that would probably mean a church and prayers, and perhaps that was what an angel would want, but Dean said Castiel called himself a warrior, too, and they went down in flames.

There was a small forest in the area and Sam drove there and then set to work. Leaving the angel in the car, he gathered the wood he needed and began to pile it. It took a while to get enough together, and then he had the macabre task of wrapping the angel before laying him out on the pyre. He used the blanket from the trunk and wrapped him from head to toe.

He laid the body on the wood and poured on the salt and gasoline. The smell was strong in his nose; it reminded him of other funerals, other lost people, and he tried not to think about the fact he was adding another death to his debt with Castiel. He used a matchbook to light the pyre and stepped back when the flames roared up. They quickly licked over the blanket binding the body and the flesh beneath.

Sam watched the body burn and spoke three words into the flames, "Thank you, Castiel."

Sam hadn't meant to sleep but when he veered into the opposite lane for the second time, he conceded that he was a danger to himself and others. He pulled over and curled up against the window. He didn't feel that he had been sleeping long before he woke with a start. He looked out of the windscreen at the darkness and wondered what had woken him, then he heard the familiar gravelly voice and his heart relocated to his throat.

"Hello, Son."

Sam turned slowly, afraid, and met the eyes of his father. He was sitting in the shotgun seat, a place he'd only ever taken when so gravely injured that he could not drive himself. "Dad?" he breathed.

John nodded. "It's me."

"How?"

"It's the apocalypse, Sam; lots of things are different now. The angels can't guard heaven so close when they've got so much else going on. Some of us have been able to find a way to break free for a while."

"And Mom?" Sam asked hopefully.

"She's working on it. She wants to see you, too."

Sam felt his heart contract painfully. His mom. He might see his mom again. Would he be able to touch her? He reached out a hand, amazed to see it was steady, but when he tried to touch his father's arm, he moved through him like smoke.

"Not all the way here," John said. "I'm just a… visitor."

Sam nodded sadly. "I know why you're here."

"Of course you do. Smartest kids in the world, I raised. But it's not all you think. Your old man isn't always the man he was before. Hell makes you rethink things, and I had plenty time to think while I was stuck down there."

Sam fought back a shudder at the casual mention of the place. He drew a breath, braced himself, and said, "Do you know everything that happened?"

"I think so. You killed that demon bitch, breaking the last seal or whatever it was, and now Lucifer is free." He stated it all calmly, as if it was an F on a paper—not that John had ever really cared about grades.

"I didn't know," Sam said dolefully. "I thought killing her would save not destroy."

"I know, and so does your mother. We know you only ever acted with the best of intentions, following the rules I laid down for you. This is as much my fault as it is yours. I laid Yellow-Eyes at your feet when you were eighteen and made you think killing him was worth anything. I watched you turn that gun on yourself and pull the trigger. Then Dean made the deal and the whole mess started. If I hadn't left you to kill yourself, Dean would never have been put in that position and he could never have broken the first seal."

Sam shook his head. "No, Dad. It's not your fault anymore than it's Dean's. I did this."

John smiled. "I know you got more than your share of the Winchester stubbornness, so I won't argue with you here, even though I know the truth. We need to talk about what happens next. You've got it into your head that you can take care of Lucifer, haven't you?"

"And I can't?" Sam asked, his heart sinking.

"I didn't say that. I just know that you can't do it alone."

"I have to!"

"No, you really don't. You need your brother. All you will do by staying away is hurt you both. You need help. Think, Sam," he said, impassioned now. "You are a great hunter, the best, but you are better when you have the support of the people who care about you, not to mention the knowhow and skills they possess. Bobby Singer has immense knowledge; he saved my ass more times than I can count. Ash is a genius at tracking and researching, you know that. Ellen and Jo are just as important, and Dean… Dean needs you as much as you need him."

There was certain logic to what his father was saying, though Sam didn't want to admit it. He did need help, and the people in his life were the best. But he was a danger to them.

"And if I hurt them again?" he asked.

John looked apologetic. "I think you are a bigger risk to more than you are to few."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked quietly, though he thought he already knew what his father was saying.

He looked sad. "Look at what you do to the world when you are alone."

Sam nodded, he was right, of course he was, but it was impossible to admit. He was scared, so scared, that he would get someone he loved hurt or killed.

"Dean's hunting now, so is Jo," John said soberly, disapprovingly. "Do you really think they'll just stop because you're not there? They'll go after Lucifer, too, and what do you think will happen then?"

Sam sucked in a breath. "They'll get their damn selves killed."

"Exactly. Hell, it might happen anyway, but if you stick together, you're stacking the odds in their favor. Do this for me, son. Go to them. Take one last order from your father?"

They sat in silence for a moment while Sam thought over what his father had said. He was right, of course. He always was. But for Sam to admit that wasn't easy. He wasn't sure he could face looking into their faces every day, knowing that they had seen his greatest failure.

It wasn't truly about him though. He needed to do what was best by them, facing his shame and putting it aside to save.

"Okay," he said slowly. "I'll go back." Saying the words aloud felt like a weight was lifting from his shoulders.

John's face showed no surprise at Sam's decision. He knew him well enough to say exactly what Sam needed to hear to make him do the right thing. "Good," he said, satisfied.

"Dad," Sam said tentatively. "Will you stay?"

"I can't stay. I'll come back just as soon as I can though."

Sam nodded, that was the best he could have hoped for.

He turned the key in the ignition and the engine rumbled to life. He took a breath and pulled away from the curb.

"Dad," he said, glancing to the side. "Are you…" It was too late. John was gone and Sam was waking. He was sitting straight in his seat, the engine was running and his hands were on the steering wheel.

He had no doubt it had been real though. Only John could make him do what he had been determined not to do. He was going back.

For perhaps the twentieth time, Dean read the text message Sam had sent: On my way back. Don't leave Bobby's.

It had come through in the night, but it was approaching evening again, and though he knew Sam wouldn't make the trip in a few hours, he wished he was there already. He didn't think he would be able to relax even a little until he was.

Perhaps Castiel had persuaded him. Perhaps Sam had come to his senses alone. Whatever the reason, what mattered was that he was coming. He hadn't thought Sam would come back; not after he had run away so many times before. He had always come back before, but one day there would be a time he wouldn't. There had to be. But he'd said he was coming, so Dean had to be patient.

It was another few hours before Dean heard the Impala pull up outside. He wanted to go out and meet Sam, but instinct kept him in his seat. He thought he needed to treat it like another day, as if Sam was returning from a trip into town, as if he hadn't fled once again.

The back door opened and Sam came in looking exhausted. He forced a grim smile for Dean and asked, "You okay?"

Dean raised an eyebrow. Sam had just had an actual breakdown. He'd run from them all, and now he came back looking like shit, and he was asking about Dean's wellbeing. Things were so backward between them it was insane.

"I'm fine," Dean said. "You?"

Sam shrugged. "Honestly, I don't even know anymore."

Bobby, who had been in the library poring over a book stomped through to the kitchen then and fixed his attention on Sam, "Didn't think we'd be seeing you again."

"I'm here now," Sam said. "I'm not abandoning you."

Bobby sighed. "You really think that's what I am saying? Sam, there is an honest-to-God apocalypse due out there and you took off alone. Do you not think we might have worried about you a little?"

Sam looked a little sad. "I didn't get hurt. Castiel did though."

"What happened?" Dean asked.

Sam drew a breath. "When we got to Pennsylvania, there were angels waiting for us. Some dick called Zachariah and a couple cronies."

"I know him," Dean said.

"Well, Castiel was facing off with them, protecting me, when this other dick arrived." He shook his head slowly. "Dean, he was killed. Raphael, the archangel, came and stabbed him."

Dean gasped. "No!"

"I'm sorry."

Of all the angels Dean had met, Castiel was the only one that Dean thought was halfway decent. Then he'd helped, busted Dean out of that room, and Dean knew he was decent. He was an ally, a friend maybe, and now he was dead. The first casualty of the end.

"Is that why you came back?" Bobby asked. "Because Castiel died?"

"Does it matter?" Sam asked. "Isn't it enough that I'm here?"

"It matters to me," Dean said.

"I came back because this is the right place for me to be. If we're going to fight and be as safe as we can be, we need to be together. I came back because someone…" He shook his head. "Doesn't matter."

He was hiding something, Dean knew. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last. Dean just had to trust that whatever it was was personal and not dangerous.

"What are we going to do next?" Bobby asked. "As happy as I am to have you boys here, we can't stay bunkered down forever."

"You're right," Sam said. "I figure we should go to The Roadhouse. Ash might be able to help. I'm thinking there might be signs of Lucifer we can avoid for now and use to find him when we need to."

"Why would we need to find the devil?" Bobby asked.

Sam spoke through his teeth. "Because when I know how, when I have a way, I am going to kill the bastard."

Dean swallowed hard. He had known on some level that this would be Sam's plan, but hearing it confirmed was hard. Lucifer was the worst thing they'd come up against. Yellow-Eyes had been much less than him, and it had cost Sam's life to kill him. Lilith was worse, and her death had taken Sam on the darkest path he had ever ventured down. Sam had done all that willingly, for the world. What would he do this time?

Sam knew even before he was out of the car that there was something wrong. The parking lot was empty of all but Ellen's and Jo's cars, which wasn't strange for the hour, but the lights were still burning in the bar, which was.

Dean's senses were honed now compared to what they had been when he'd joined the hunt again, and he seemed to sense it too. He stiffened with his hand on the door and reached for his gun.

There was no chance of subterfuge with the sound the engine had made, so they didn't even attempt it. They both climbed out of the car and raised their guns.

"Stay behind me," Sam said, and waited for Dean's nod before he walked toward the door. It wasn't that he thought Dean was incapable. He could just concentrate better when Dean was at least a little protected.

He pushed on the door and was unsurprised to find it was unlocked. Whoever was there other than Ellen, Jo and Ash, they were obviously there for Sam and Dean and not the rest of their family.

He eased the door open, holding his gun in front of him.

"You won't need that," a voice that Sam had heard once before said. "It's useless against us anyway."

Sam stepped fully into the room and saw Zachariah flanked by the two same angels that had been in Pennsylvania when Castiel had been killed. Sitting at the corner table Sam usually favored were Ellen, Jo and Ash, looking afraid but otherwise unharmed. He lowered his gun to his side and sighed. He knew the angel was right—guns were useless. If a knife to the heart wasn't going to bother them, a bullet wouldn't.

Dean came in after him and, despite Sam's instructions, moved to his side.

Zachariah's face broke into a wide smile. "Here he is. The man we've been waiting for."

"Me?" Dean asked.

"Yes, you."

"Why do you want him?" Sam asked angrily.

"Ah, and there he is," Zachariah said. "The little brother who thinks he can save. The one who stands so tall and proud even after all he has done. Now, Sam Winchester, did you tell them how Castiel died trying to save your worthless hide?"

"Yes," Sam said. "Right after I took the body of the poor bastard your buddy killed and burned it."

Dean's eyes snapped to him, looking stunned.

What did he think Sam would have done with the body? Leave it behind for a John Doe cremation?

"You gave him a hunter's funeral?" Zachariah laughed. "That's hilarious."

"Screw you," Sam said bitterly. A hunter's funeral was a thing of honor not joke. It was how John Winchester had been taken care of. It was how Sam wanted to go. It was a mark of respect for someone who gave for others. Castiel had earned it.

Zachariah tutted. "There is a reason you aren't the one, you know, Sam, despite the bloodline. You could never belong to him."

"I belong to no one," Sam said.

Zachariah looked amused. "You'll see."

"What do you want, Zachariah?" Dean asked.

"I am not here for what you fear," Zachariah said. "I know you're afraid I am here to end your brother, but it is a baseless fear. In a way we owe him for what he did. And his work isn't over yet. Nor is yours. There is a task we need you to do."

Dean crossed his arms over his chest. "Yeah? See I heard that a lot over the last year, that there was 'work' for me to do. Turns out that was a crap distraction."

"It wasn't. There is still work for you to do. Well, technically not you, but your body at least. There is one great service you can do for us and the world."

"He's doing nothing for you," Sam said stiffly. "I won't let him."

Dean laid a hand on his chest, as if to calm him. Sam hadn't felt this calm in a long time though. He was filled with certainty and resolution. They would get nothing from Dean. He would never let that happen. Dean wouldn't be stupid enough to make the same mistakes Sam had.

"How will you stop him?" Zachariah asked.

"What do you want from me?" Dean asked, saving Sam from answering.

"Dean," Sam growled.

"He's right to ask," Zachariah said. "Sensible man. You can't go into this blind, after all. Complete disclosure this time, Dean. What we need is for you to give consent."

Dean looked confused for all of a second before his eyes widened. "Consent! You want to stuff an angel down my throat?"

"Not just any angel," Zachariah said with relish. "Our great leader. Our general. The archangel Michael."

Sam forced himself not to react, to not give the dick the satisfaction. Dean had no such resolve. "And why the hell would I do that?"

"Because it is written. It is your destiny. You will give yourself over and save the world from The Serpent. You will be Michael's weapon for the battle."

"And you know I really doubt it," Sam said easily. "Dean's too smart to fall into your trap."

"Hmmm, maybe a little motivation might help," Zachariah said with a wide smile. "How about this?" He snapped his fingers and Sam felt an agonizing pain in his lower legs and he dropped to the floor with a howl. Looking down, he saw his legs were at unnatural angles. The bastard had broken them.

"Sam!" Dean shouted.

Sam swallowed down a cry and looked up at his brother. "It's fine. I'm fine. Don't give them what they want."

"What do you say, Dean?" Zachariah asked,

"No," Dean said firmly.

"How about now?" he asked, pointing a finger at Sam again. "Let's see how he does without his lungs."

There was a sudden heavy weight on Sam's chest and he couldn't draw a breath. It wasn't as if his mouth was blocked, it was that there was nowhere for the air to go. He heard people shouting his name, and he slumped back on the floor, his head hitting the hard wood, gulping air into his stomach.

Someone turned his head, and he looked into Ellen's frantic face. "Hang on, honey," she said, but Sam felt he was hearing it from underwater. Sam fixed his eyes on Dean who was on his feet, looking down at Sam, stunned, and he shook his head. It didn't matter if he died as long as Dean didn't say yes.

"He's dying, Dean," Zachariah said smugly. "Will you say yes now?"

"Never," Dean said, though it sounded like the word cost him something.

Sam kept his blurring gaze on Dean and willed him to stay strong, to keep saying no. Nothing else mattered. He felt himself slipping though. The oxygen deprivation was getting to him and he was going to lose consciousness soon.

Then there was a piercing sound like light made voluble and Sam heard someone cry out, "No!" The voice would have scared him but it was Zachariah's, and that meant something was going wrong for him.

Sam knew he was dying now; he had to be, because he was hearing a voice whose owner he knew to be dead. "Hello, Dean."

Just as Sam's mind fogged and faded, he heard Dean's stunned question. "Castiel?"

Sam was slumped over the table with a glass of whiskey in front of him. Jo was beside him and her head was resting on his shoulder. Dean was sitting on his other side, and though he cast Sam occasional worried glances, he was okay.

"So, Castiel shivved one of the lackeys through the throat, ordered him to put you right, and Zach booked it out of there pretty soon after," Dean said.

Sam smiled grimly. "Good work, Cas."

"I was happy to help," Castiel said, though he sounded pleased.

"And God brought you back?" Ellen asked.

"Yes. He resurrected me and rebuilt my body from the ashes."

"Yeah," Sam said awkwardly. "I'm sorry about that. If I'd known it was an option, I would never have… you know."

Castiel smiled at him. "I was… honored… that you would do that for me."

Sam looked away, unsure of what to say or how to react to Castiel's obvious sincerity.

He still felt groggy from Zachariah's attack and his lack of sleep. What he wanted more than anything was to go to the peace of his and Dean's room and rest. He rested his head against Jo's and closed his eyes.

"Okay," Ellen said, making his eyes snap open again. "You boys need sleep. You've had a hell of a couple days, and you need to rest before the next crap-storm comes along."

"Cheery, Ellen," Dean said.

"Am I wrong?" she countered. "You said Lucifer was free. That means an actual apocalypse. Crap-storms are what we should be preparing for. Besides, Sam looks ready to drop."

Unable to argue, Sam eased Jo up and stood. He waved a vague goodbye to the others and staggered out of the bar and into the bedroom. He fell fully clothed onto the bed and punched the pillow into a more comfortable shape. He heard Dean come in, and maybe he said something, but Sam was already almost asleep. He groaned something indecipherable in return and was soon asleep.

She was there so fast she could have been waiting for him. "Mom?" Sam asked hopefully.

"Sam," she said with a soft smile.

Sam sat up quickly, making his head swim.

"You're exhausted," she said in a sigh. "My poor boy."

Sam blinked away a tear. It was too much on top of everything else to see her, so beautiful. He couldn't hold onto the tight grip he usually had on his emotions.

"You're hurting," she said.

"You know what I did. I'm supposed to hurt for that."

"Have you really thought about it, Sam?" she said. "What you did, I mean? Have you looked at it from another angle?"

Sam frowned. "What do you mean?"

"Perhaps it wasn't a crime after all. You know why Lucifer was cast out, don't you?"

"Because he wouldn't bow to humanity."

"Exactly," she said. "How is that a crime?"

Sam's heart sank. She would never say this. Sam knew that in his heart. He had heard how gentle and sweet his mother was, and he'd seen it for himself when Uriel blasted him back to the past, but she wouldn't sympathize with the devil. It wasn't her. It couldn't be.

"You're not her," he said, his disappointment obvious in his tone.

She shook her head sadly. "No. I'm not."

Her form rippled as if in a heat haze and then Sam was looking into the eyes of a man he had never seen before.

"Hello, Sam," he said.

"Who are you?" Sam asked.

"I think you already know. Think, Sam, who would come to you now, after what you did?"

"Lucifer!" he spat.

"Yes."

"What do you want?"

"I want to help you. I want to give you everything. I owe you so much for what you did for me. You freed me. I want to free you."

"I'm already free," Sam said.

"You're really not. You are burdened by the grief of what you have done. I can take that away. I can bring them back to you. Your mother, your father, all you have to do is say yes."

Sam's eyes widened and he felt sick.

"You understand," Lucifer said, satisfied. "I knew you would. You are clever. Yes, Sam. You are the chosen vessel." He plucked at the shirt he was wearing. "Nick here is an improvisation. Plan B as it were. You're the one truly meant for me."

"I will never say yes," Sam said defiantly.

Lucifer shook his head. "You will. You will have no choice."

"Never," Sam said again.

Lucifer smiled slightly. "I am sorry, Sam, I truly am, but it's going to happen. You can fight it all you like, but it is destiny."

"Why me?"

"Because it had to be you, Sam. It always had to be you. You and I are one."

Sam closed his eyes, misery rising within him. When he opened them, Lucifer was gone.

Sam crossed the room on silent feet and laid the sheet of paper on his pillow. Dean would find it soon enough, but by then it would be too late to do anything about it.

He had known what he had to do the minute the words left Lucifer's mouth. "You will have no choice."

Lucifer was right. He would find a way to force Sam, and despite his best intentions, he would fail to resist. He didn't want to do this, he didn't want to go, but it was him or the world.

He looked down at Dean's sleeping form and whispered a goodbye. It was a goodbye this time. There was no bargaining it away—no demon would deal now—and no chance of recovery. He would make sure of it.

He turned away and made for the kitchen. The keys were in the lock and he opened the back door, pausing to check no one woke when it creaked. No one did, and he slipped through it and left it open behind him.

He could have gone from The Roadhouse to do it, but that would just make things more complicated when they did find him. He opened the trunk and searched through the weapons for the silencer that fitted his gun. It was under a sack of salt. He took it out and attached it to the gun with confident movements.

Ready, he walked back to the scrubby yard that made up the rear of The Roadhouse's land. He figured the rain that was falling would take care of the mess he would leave behind. Well, some of the mess.

He took a breath, pressed the hilt of the gun against his chest once again, closed his eyes, and pulled the trigger.

There was no pain, only peace.

So… Again with the pleas for mercy. I brought Cas back, that's good right? I mean sure I killed Sam, but that's okay. Right? Right!

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx