Thank you so much Jenjoremy for beta'ing, SandraEngstrom2 and Gredelina1 for pre-reading and to you all for sticking with me and the story. I really appreciate the support

Chapter Four

They left him. He didn't know for how long, he wasn't even aware of them going, but when the tears ceased, he found he was alone in the room. His body was heavy and he wanted to sleep more than anything, to dream of the things he had lost maybe. But there was no chance of resting. His mind was awake and active, refusing to allow him even that comfort.

They hadn't taken off the handcuff that tethered him to the bed, but he thought maybe that was better. That way he couldn't walk out of the camp into the ruined world again, straight into the path of the nearest rabid to be put out his misery. There was no reason not to. Sam was gone. The people he loved were already doomed. There was no shame in it anymore. Sam had done the same thing. But he couldn't, because they had left him bound, so he just had to wait for what came next. Perhaps Zachariah would come soon and cast him back to the nightmare of his present rather than the one of the future.

Zachariah didn't come though. He was alone for a long time before he heard footsteps again and the most unexpected person walked into the room. He was unexpected not only for his actual presence, but for his physical appearance, too. He was dressed in a collarless shirt with a bead necklace around his neck and he looked stoned.

"Castiel?"

The angel smiled a little sadly. "Hello, Dean."

"What the hell happened to you? I mean… this," he gestured Castiel up and down.

"Humanity happened. I gained it. Others lost it."

"I noticed," Dean said dourly. "The other me is a mess."

"I don't mean him," Castiel said.

"Who do you mean?"

Castiel shook his head. "They sent me into answer some of your questions. As you can imagine, it's hard for them to be around you."

"Because I'm him?"

"No, because it's still so raw for you. They left it behind a long time ago."

"Okay," Dean said slowly. "Tell me what happened."

Castiel moved to the bed and sat down beside Dean. His eyes became distant and he said, "It started when Lucifer gained his vessel."

"He got someone to consent? How? I thought he had to be honest. What kind of man would say yes to that?"

"We don't know," Castiel said sadly. "None of us were there when it happened." He shook his head. "I can only imagine he was desperate and could see no other way. It happened, and the world started to spin out of control from there. Within months Croatoan was spreading and people were killing and infecting others."

"Croatoan? That's what's making people go rabid?"

"It's a demonic virus. Sam encountered this infection a long time ago, around the time you were reunited. It makes humans… Well, I'm assuming you saw it. They attack 'clean' humans and sometimes kill, sometimes infect. Dean created this safe place for the clean. There are around a hundred of us living here now. There used to be more, but we have to leave the compound sometimes for supplies and there are casualties."

"Bobby?" Dean asked, thinking of the blood and ashes.

"Bobby Singer refused to leave his home. He would come here to train and instruct, but he always returned home after. One day he didn't show up as scheduled, so we went to his house to check on him. Dean found him. It wasn't the Croats. It was a gunshot. We believe Lucifer or one of his lieutenants did the job. Dean was very upset."

Of course he was. Bobby was family, like a father to Dean. He couldn't imagine how it would feel to lose him.

"Why would Lucifer do it?" Dean asked.

"It was when the other angels were still here. I believe he wanted to hurt Dean, to remind him of the power he held over him. Anyone that he loved could be taken away on a whim. He was trying to persuade Dean to give in."

"What do you mean when the angels were here?"

"They left," Castiel said, a hint of longing in his tone. "I think they gave up. They went home to Heaven and ceased to care about anything here."

"You're still here though."

"I had no choice. I wasn't one of them anymore. Dean tried to call them back. When it became clear that there was no healing the world, he thought it would be better to put half out of its misery swiftly as opposed to the painful, drawn out affair it is now. They didn't answer though. They don't care anymore. I don't believe they even heard his prayers. They abandoned us all."

Dean raked his free hand over his face. "This is worse than Hell. This is the world. What do I do?"

"You're only here temporarily," Castiel said. "You will go back to your time soon and there you will be able to make a choice."

"You think I should say yes?" Dean asked, a bite of anger in his tone.

"I think you should make the decision yourself. Our Dean would tell you to do it. He would say yes now in a heartbeat, but I…"

"You?"

Castiel let out a quiet sigh. "I see the good that still exists here. Yes, many are suffering, but others still live. There is happiness to be found if you look for it. You have to decide if the happiness of some outweighs the suffering of others."

"That's too much for one man to decide. I need Sam to help me make that choice, and he's gone now."

Castiel nodded. "Sam made his own choice. You knew him, though. What do you think he would want?"

"I don't know," Dean moaned.

"Then let me take you to someone else that knows him just as well."

He frowned. "You said Dean would say yes."

"I did, but he's not who I mean." He stood and reached onto the shelf above the bed. He took down a small silver key and unlocked Dean's cuff.

"He left it there?" Dean asked.

"I believe he wanted you to make the choice to be free yourself, to make the choice that is no longer his to make."

"He's not cuffed, Cas."

"Not with metal, no, but he is just as trapped as you."

The sun was just lighting the sky when Dean and Castiel stepped out of the cabin. Dean had mourned the whole night away.

People were starting to stir in their cabins; doors were open and he could hear voices, but they passed no one on their way through the camp. Castiel led him to one at the very rear, smaller than the others. The door wasn't open like the others, and there was a sign on the handle saying Do Not Disturb. Castiel ignored the sign and knocked once on the wood before opening the door and going in. Dean hesitated before following him.

Like the cabin Dean had been held in, the walls were log, there was a bed and table and chairs. The difference was that there was a man stretched out on the bed, fast asleep. There was an old-fashioned manual typewriter and stacks of paper on the table, and what looked suspiciously like a homemade still.

Castiel slapped the man's back and said, "Chuck, wake up! There's someone here to see you."

"S'early," the man groaned.

"And yet you are talking, which means you are awake," Castiel said.

For someone that was supposed to know Sam as well as Dean did, the man wasn't impressive or familiar. As he rolled over and swung his legs around to the floor, Dean got a look into his face, concealed in part by a beard. He had bright, intelligent eyes, and as they took Dean in, they widened.

"Whoa, not Dean," he said.

"Not our Dean," Castiel corrected. "But still Dean."

The man, Chuck, rubbed his hands over his face. "Oh, man, just because I know it's coming, doesn't make it easier."

"You knew this was coming?" Dean asked. "Knew what was coming?"

"You," Castiel said. "Dean, this is the prophet Chuck."

Dean raised an eyebrow. "This is a joke, right?"

Dean didn't think he had ever met anyone who looked less like a prophet. And what was with the still? What kind of holy man got juiced?

"Not a holy man," Chuck said tiredly, "and if you'd been here longer you'd know exactly why the still is needed."

Dean gaped at the man. Had he seriously just read Dean's mind? The only person he'd known who could do that was Missouri and she at least looked the part of a psychic.

"No, I didn't read your mind. I just knew what you were thinking."

"You're not helping Chuck," Castiel said. "You're just confusing him. Dean, Chuck is…"

"A writer," Chuck supplied.

"A writer," Castiel agreed. "His books are about you and Sam."

Dean walked across the room and sat down at the table. It wasn't that he believed; it was just that this was too much for him to take and he needed a moment to get his head around the fact Castiel thought screwing with him was a good idea today of all days.

"Castiel wouldn't do that," Chuck said.

"Stop that!" Dean snapped.

"Yes," Castiel said firmly. "Stop, Chuck."

Chuck nodded and sighed. "Fine. I was just trying to prove my point."

"How about you prove your point some with some truth?" Dean asked. "You're psychic?"

"No. I am not reading your mind in the present; I just know what you're thinking, what I'll say and what you'll be thinking in return because I dreamed this whole conversation already." He braced his hands on his knees and drew a breath. "Okay, around eight years ago, I started having these dreams. Really intense dreams. They were about you and Sam. The very first one was Sam in Miner's Delight. From there you joined the dreams and things seemed… fascinating." He looked a little ashamed. "You've gotta understand I didn't know they were real back then. I thought they were just dreams. So I started writing them down as fiction. On a whim, I sent them off to a publisher. They liked them, so they started printing."

"You're telling me you novelized our lives and sold it as books?"

Chuck nodded and got to his feet. He crossed to the table where the typewriter was and picked up a book. He threw it to Dean who caught it and read the synopsis on the back aloud. "The Winchesters are down to the wire with Dean's deal. Will Sam be able to conquer Lilith in time or is he doomed to fail?" He tossed the book down onto the bed, not even wanting to touch it.

"You sold this?" he asked. "My story. Hell. All of it?"

"I only sold the stories until your deal came due and then the publishers went bust. I've been writing it all down since though." He looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Dean. I truly didn't know you were real. I thought they were just inspirational dreams."

"Some dreams," Dean grunted, and then he shook his head. "If you didn't know we were real, how are you here now? You usually go looking for fictional characters to saddle up with?"

"The world ended," Chuck said. "It got worse and worse, and then I dreamed about Dean setting up the camp. I thought maybe it was worth a shot to see if anyone was actually here. I came and found Dean and the others." He smiled slightly. "Dean was even more angry about it than you. He punched me so hard that I was concussed for days."

"Don't blame him," Dean said. He was a little bitter about the whole thing still. To have this man knowing what they were thinking and feeling felt like a violation. "Have you always had this… ability?" he asked. "I mean, you've always known what we were thinking?"

Chuck nodded. "The first time Sam came to your home, he fell asleep on the couch. You thought it was just exhaustion, but you hoped some remnant of your Sam remained and made him feel safe with you still."

Dean nodded. He believed. It wasn't a good feeling though, having his mind and thoughts open to a stranger. He was more pissed about that than the idea that other strangers knew his story from books, though. Sam would be beyond angry if he knew… Sam could never know though. The realization felt like a knife in his guts. "Cas says you know Sam well enough to know what he would do," Dean said, trying to force away thoughts of his brother's death.

Chuck nodded. "Perhaps. I do know him as well as it is possible to know someone after so many years of knowing his thoughts and feelings."

"So? What would Sam say?"

Chuck glanced at Castiel and they shared a moment of communication. "When Zachariah brought you here, Sam had just killed himself," Chuck stated. "Do you know why?"

"Because he couldn't bear what he had done," Dean said.

"No. He did it because he thought it would save the world. Lucifer took a vessel before Sam died. It wasn't the right vessel, merely a stopgap, but it was enough that he could focus his will enough to come to Sam in a dream. Dean, Lucifer's true vessel was Sam. When Sam heard that, he knew he had to do what he could to stop Lucifer taking him. That's why shot himself. He was trying to save the world."

Dean felt wetness on his face and thumbed it away. He didn't want to cry in front of this man, even though he had been apparently been privy to every tear that had fallen for years now.

Sam had died to save. How could he have ever believed it was anything else? That was what Sam did. He killed himself to stop Yellow-Eyes. He took on the curse of the blood even though it went against everything in him, to save Dean and then to kill Lilith. Sam saved. That was what he did, even when it didn't work out.

"Thank you, Chuck," he said quietly. "I needed to hear that."

"I know," Chuck said.

Dean forced a smile. "Of course you do."

At that moment, the other Dean stomped into the room. He looked from face to face and said, "Good. You've been talking to him. You know the deal?"

He nodded. "Yeah. He explained everything."

"And you know what you've got to do?"

"I know exactly what needs to happen next."

"Good. Come with me. We need to talk."

They were congregated in a large building that Dean could tell from the smell was usually used as a cafeteria.

Dean was sitting between Ellen and Castiel at a table and they were all looking up at Dean's future self where he stood, speaking clearly but passionately as he toyed with an old gun in his hands. "We have been waiting for this since the war began, and we finally have it. Tonight, we're going after Lucifer, and we're going to kill him." He turned the colt over in his hands, looking at it with an expression of awe.

"How?" someone at the back of the room asked.

"Well, Risa, I figured I'd point this and shoot."

"And you're going to get past all the demons guarding him… how?"

"That's our job," Ellen said stiffly. "We've got the demon knife, Cas has his angel blade, and regular guns will slow them down if we take out kneecaps."

"Okay," the woman, Risa, said. "And how are we going to find the devil?"

"We know where he is," Dean replied. "That demon we caught a couple weeks ago spilled his secrets."

"And you believed him?" Risa asked.

"Trust me, I didn't give him the chance to lie." There was darkness in his eyes that told Dean exactly how he'd gotten the truth from the demon. He was torturing again. "You don't have to come," he went on. "None of you do. You owe nothing to me. I just figured I should give you the option to come seeing as you all owe Satan for every friend and family member he stole from you." He locked eyes with Dean. "We owe him."

Dean nodded. Lucifer was the reason Sam was gone. They all, Dean, Ellen, Jo, Castiel, they all owed him for what he had done to them.

"If you're in, meet me at the trucks in fifteen minutes," Dean said. "If not, none of us will hold it against you."

There was scraping of chairs as people got to their feet and creaking of the plank floor as they exited the room leaving him, Ellen, Jo, Castiel and the other Dean alone. He came to their table and sat down, setting the colt down in front of him.

"How many you think we'll get?" Ellen asked.

He shrugged. "I don't know. Doesn't matter how many, I guess. Lucifer is going to let us through anyway. He'll want us to see."

"He'll want you to see," Jo corrected.

Dean nodded. "Maybe. You still in?"

"Of course," Ellen said, casting her daughter a sad glance. "To the end." She patted Jo's hand on the table. "Come on, honey. We should gear up."

Jo nodded, smiled a little sadly, and she and Ellen walked from the room.

Dean watched them go, trying to make sense of his tangled thoughts. There was something very wrong happening. He could tell by the look in Ellen's eyes. He had seen in before, after Sam took down Yellow-Eyes. She was mourning.

Sick realization settled over him and he sucked in a breath. "This is a suicide mission!"

Dean nodded slowly. "Wondered when you'd work it out."

"It might not necessarily be suicide," Castiel said. "Ellen will have the knife and Jo will have my blade. They've got the best chance at coming out of out of it."

"And you?" Dean asked. "And the rest of the people he's guilt tripped into coming along?" He thumbed at his future self.

"Me?" Castiel said. "I will almost certainly die. The others… they know the risk. If they come, any of them, it will be because they think this is worth a life."

Dean shook his head, sickened. This was going to kill them and they knew it. How could Ellen let it happen? How could she let Jo go into this, knowing she could die? The Ellen he had known hadn't even wanted Jo to hunt because of the risk.

"But… Jo," he said mournfully.

"It's her choice," His counterpart said doggedly.

"No! It's not her choice to throw herself in front of the bus."

"Like it wasn't Sam's?" the other Dean asked. "You don't understand. You haven't lived through what we have. For us, this is our cause and our reward. Whoever dies will get out of this damned world and get to live in Heaven. Believe me, that's better than what we're living with now."

"How do you know Heaven's better?" Dean asked angrily. "You spent much time there?"

"I have," Castiel said. "It is a reward for them. Trust me."

"I won't let you do this!"

"Thought you might say that," Dean said, getting tiredly to his feet. "Which is why I have to do this." He snapped out the hand holding the colt and cracked in into the back of Dean's head. He fell forward, unconscious before he hit the table. Again.

Dean didn't fight his way to consciousness. He woke with a start and Zachariah's fingers pulling back from his forehead.

"Up and at 'em," Zachariah said. "You can't sleep the day away when there are so many exciting things happening."

Dean lurched to his feet, knocking back the chair he had sat on. "Where are they?" he asked.

"Not far."

"Take me," Dean said desperately. "I have to stop them."

"Stop them killing the Devil? That seems rather stupid to me."

"Stop them killing themselves. They're going into this to die. I can't let that happen."

Zachariah whistled. "Wow. Talk about a superhero complex. Come on then, Dean. Let's see what you can do."

Dean he fought the urge to pull back as Zachariah reached for him. He didn't want that angel touching him. He held still though and didn't flinch when Zachariah's strong fingers clasped around his arm. There was the now familiar but still disconcerting feeling of being moved without his instruction, and then there was a warm breeze on his face and the air was filled with the scent of flowers. He looked around and saw he was in front of a large, white building with a sign declaring it as the Jackson County Sanitarium.

"That's it, Dean," Zachariah said. "Take it all in. Don't look back."

There was something about the way he said it that made fear curdle in Dean's gut. He turned slowly and gagged at what he saw.

Ellen was face down on the ground, a large stain of blood on the back of her khaki shirt. Her right arm was stretched out, reaching for something. Jo was facing the sky with wide, unknowing eyes. Her hand was at her side, an inch from her mother's reach. Dean moaned. "Oh, God."

"Told you not to look back," Zachariah said.

Dean ignored him and kneeled beside Jo. With a tender touch, he cupped her cheek and then closed her eyes. She looked peaceful now, almost as if she was sleeping.

"I am so sorry," he whispered.

There was the crack of a gun away and Dean jerked up straight.

"Run, Dean!" Zachariah said. "You might even make it in time."

Dean ran. He sprinted toward the sound of the gunshot, his heart screaming out in pain for what he had seen. Ellen. Jo. He wanted to howl his misery.

He saw another body ahead of him and his heart clenched again. It was Castiel. He was lying on the ground, a rifle still gripped in his hand. Dean staggered to a halt and bent once again to close his eyes, but then they blinked and a pained gaze fixed on him. "Go!" he moaned. "Stop him."

"Cas…" Dean started.

"Go!"

Dean went. He raced around the building, not sure of what he would find, only knowing he had to be there.

He turned a corner and skidded to a halt at what he saw. The man was standing with his back to him, but Dean would recognize the too long hair and broad shoulders in a crowd of hundreds.

"Sam!" he gasped.

Sam turned and his wide eyes fixed on Dean with shock.

Dean rushed forward, his arms coming up to hold his brother, his fingers fisting in his jacket and his breaths coming shaky. He thought Sam must be able to feel his heart pounding against his ribs. His emotions were chaotic; he was overwhelmed and deliriously happy and devastated for his lost friends all at once. He didn't even notice at first that Sam's hands weren't holding him in return. When he did, he pulled back and said in a confused tone, "Sammy? What's wrong?"

"Sammy," he sighed. "I haven't heard that in a long time."

Dean shook his head, trying to make sense of his thoughts. "You died," he said. "I saw your body. How are you here?"

"The angels brought me back," Sam said stiffly. "After I shot myself, I woke up in The Roadhouse. Castiel said it had to have been Lucifer. I was dead, but I came back. Then Lucifer found me." There was bitterness in his voice.

"I don't understand. You've been here since you died?"

"Since just about a week after I woke up. He came to The Roadhouse one night." Sam sighed. "I thought he was going to kill you all, I was sure of it, so when he took me, I didn't fight. I wasn't scared. I thought you'd get me back." He glared at Dean. "You didn't. All those hunters, all that knowledge, and you didn't even try. Lucifer told me. He said there wasn't even a vaguest attempt at a rescue."

"I…" Dean shook his head. "I don't know what happened. It wasn't me. I am not this time's Dean. I am from 2009. Zachariah brought me here."

"I know," Sam said. "Lucifer has his spies in the camp. They told him what was happening when the others stormed the place. They're all dead now."

"Sam, I'm sorry. I don't know what happened, why I didn't come, but I'm here now. We have to get out of here before Lucifer comes."

"Lucifer can't come, Dean. You finally did something right in your life. You killed him. I saw it happen. I guess I owe you, or the other you, my thanks. After five years of constant torture, that part is over."

"He's dead?"

"They both are," Sam said, satisfied. "Dean killed Lucifer and I killed Dean."

Dean took an involuntary step back. "You killed him?"

"Don't you think he deserved it? After everything he did, the things he didn't do, I had my revenge." He smiled grimly. "You don't even know the half of it, do you? Castiel never filled you in. Alastair told me. I broke the last seal killing Lilith, but you broke the first. When you picked up that blade in Hell and tortured that soul, it cracked the first seal. Everything that came after, including what I did, is because the righteous man shed blood in hell. And they don't come more righteous than you, do they?"

"No," Dean hissed. "You're lying."

"You'd like to believe that, wouldn't you? I'm not lying. Not only did you ruin my life coming back, you ruined the world, too." He laughed. "And to think I once thought I was free of you. You went to Hell and I rejoiced. It was gone at last, that albatross around my neck. But you came back. You ruined me once again." His eyes danced with mirth. It was so unlike Sam. It was so unlike him that it couldn't be him.

Dean felt a surge of something like relief; it was the best his body could manage under the circumstances. He had overplayed his hand. Sam had done everything to save Dean from Hell both before the deal came due and after. Dean wasn't an albatross. Sam wouldn't have rejoiced. And even if he was telling the truth about the first seal, he wouldn't give up on Dean now. He would forgive as he had then.

"You are not my brother," Dean said. "Where is he?"

He laughed. "What gave it away?"

"Sam would die for me," Dean said simply.

"He really would."

"Where is he?" Dean asked, enunciating every word carefully.

"In here." He tapped his forehead. "Screaming to be free, but bound too well to break through. I am not Azazel. I am stronger."

"Lucifer," Dean whispered.

"Ten points to our contestant. Yes, I'm Lucifer. It's a pleasure to meet you in person, Dean. I have waited a long time for a chance to talk to you. I was too busy snapping the neck of your counterpart to really chat."

"Get out of him!" Dean commanded.

Lucifer laughed again. "Yeah, that'll work. Sorry, Dean, Sam's mine now." He tilted his head to the side. "But you knew that already, didn't you? I can see the defeat in you. Poor Dean. All alone in the world now."

"Are you going to kill me, too?" Dean asked emotionlessly.

"I could. You'd like that wouldn't you? You are so completely done with the world. You are forgetting something though, Dean. You're just a visitor here. I don't need to kill you because I already have. Your body lies rotting just over there." He gestured to the corner of the building. "I will make you live out these five years before giving you mercy. Would you like a sneak preview of what will happen? Would you like to pay your respects to yourself?"

"Yes," Dean said, and he followed Lucifer, an idea kindling inside him. He couldn't die, he wouldn't, because there was work for him to do still. Dean understood now why Sam had shot himself. It was to stop this monster. But Sam was waiting for him in that past world, or he would be when he woke again and he had to be there. Together they would use the information he had amassed on this trip and he would use it to save the world.

They reached the corner, and Lucifer gestured Dean ahead of him. Dean barely cast his future self's body a passing glance. He was looking for something. He spotted it beside the body. Feigning emotion he didn't feel, he staggered to the body and dropped to his knees.

"This must be quite the mind bend for you," Lucifer said conversationally.

"Not so much," Dean said. "This makes it worth it!"

He grabbed up the colt from his dead self's hand and aimed it at Lucifer's head.

For a moment, Lucifer's eyes widened, and then he laughed. "You won't do it, Dean. You're forgetting who I am. You can't kill your brother."

But he could. Because it wasn't his brother anymore. It was the devil and he had to be stopped. It was what Sam would want.

He started to squeeze the trigger at the same moment a hand clamped down on his shoulder and Zachariah's voice said, "I think you've seen enough."

Dean opened his eyes in the bar of The Roadhouse. It was empty of all but him and Zachariah.

"No need to thank me," Zachariah said smugly.

"Thank you?" Dean spat.

"I brought you away before you had to see your brother die, once again. Aren't you grateful?"

Dean just gaped at him.

"Now, I hope you've learned your lesson?" Zachariah said. "You have seen the world in the toilet because of your misguided choice. Shall I call Michael now or would you like a moment to say goodbye to your brother's corpse?"

Dean shook his head. "I'm doing nothing for you."

"You have to be joking!" he snarled. "After all that, you still need persuading? You didn't learn?"

"I learned plenty, just not what you were trying to show me," Dean said. "I will not now, nor will I ever, say yes."

Zachariah seemed to swell with rage. "Believe me you will. I have you now, Dean. I am going to show you what real pain is. Alastair was an amateur compared to me."

"You'll try," Dean said. "You won't succeed."

"How about this, I take Sam and show him what torture is?"

Dean shook his head again, though he wasn't so sanguine now. "Not going to happen."

"Really, how do you think you're going to stop me?"

"Like this!" Jo shouted from the hall, then there was the sound of a hand slapping down on plaster and a force pulsed through the room. Zachariah was dragged away.

Dean turned to the door where Jo stood with a bloody palm. "Thank you."

She nodded. Her face was wrought with grief and pain, and Dean reacted automatically. He crossed the room and pulled her into his arms.

She began to cry against him, and Dean heard garbled words through the sobs. "Sam's gone."

Dean eased her away from him and cupped her cheeks in his hands. He pressed a kiss to her forehead and said, "Not forever. Sam's coming back."

So… I think I am breaking my own record for character deaths in this story, and we're only on the fourth chapter. Each and every one had to be done though. Trust me, okay?

Until next time…

Clowns or Midgets xxx