Chapter 6

Sam sat on the edge of the bed, wringing his hands in his lap. He was starting to feel like a caged animal. He couldn't be sure, but it must have been several hours since Lucifer's last visit, enough time for Sam to cycle through the stages of grief. He'd tried retreating back to denial, but that didn't last long. The explanation that Cas had been the one to open the panic room somehow just made the most sense. And really, why would Lucifer lie about that, of all things?

Next had come anger, and boy had he spent a good deal of time cursing dickhead angels and fantasizing about ramming pointy celestial blades through their throats. He never really got so far as wanting to kill Cas, though he had plenty of fury to throw at that angel as well. Dean had trusted him, befriended him, and Cas had betrayed them.

Except…the angel had then gone and pulled a one-eighty, rebelled against Heaven to help Dean get to Sam. And Castiel had died as a result. Sure, he'd been brought back…to a world quickly going down the toilet, without full power to do anything about it. In the quiet moments between Sam's own misery, he could recognize how hard that must be for the once all-powerful angel of God. Plus, Sam didn't truly believe that Cas had ever meant him or Dean harm. If he thought about it long enough, Sam remembered how Cas had been yanked out of his vessel and sent back to Heaven. And when he'd come back that night in the warehouse, he'd been different. Cold and aloof and biting to Dean. Something must have happened. Something to make him fall back in line.

Sam hadn't given it any consideration then; he'd been going through withdrawal, too obsessed with scoring his next fix to properly watch over Jimmy Novak. And then he'd killed that demon, drank its blood, and exorcised Amelia Novak. The high—plus the expression on Dean's face—had pretty much blotted out anything else about that night. And then of course Dean had lured him into Bobby's panic room to lock him up and throw away the key. After which came that horrific detox until nothing else mattered except getting out, getting his fix, and killing Lilith.

Which was how Sam finally arrived at accepting responsibility for his actions. He'd been determined to stop Lilith at all costs, and no one, not even Dean, would have been able to convince him to abandon that course of action. Dean and Bobby would have had to let him out of the panic room eventually, and once that happened, Sam probably would have gone straight to Ruby anyway. So it didn't matter whether it'd been Cas, another angel, or even a demon, who had opened the door; all they did was push the timetable up a bit.

The admission left Sam wallowing in a sea of self-loathing, guilt, and doubt. Had he made such poor, stupid decisions because he'd been foolish? Or had he gone down that path because it was in his nature? No, if Sam had known that Lilith was the final Seal, he wouldn't have killed her! All of Lucifer's spouting about Sam having not done anything wrong with the demon blood…he wouldn't believe it. It was wrong; he'd been wrong. And he wouldn't go down that path again.

Not willingly, anyway. He doubted Lucifer would be patient forever. Sam didn't know whether he'd be able to withstand physical torture if it came to that, especially since the emotional torment was difficult enough.

He pinched the bridge of his nose; the headache was getting worse, adding lightheadedness to the mix, and Sam begrudgingly admitted that if he didn't eat, he wouldn't be in very good shape to continue resisting the Devil. So, he finally gave in and approached the food on the table. He eyed the platter of fruit and vegetables warily. Lucifer wouldn't poison him, true, but what if he tried to sneak demon blood into it?

Sam picked up a carrot stick and sniffed it. It didn't smell like it was infused with demon blood. He snapped off a crisp corner. It actually tasted pretty good, and before Sam could stop himself, he'd eaten half the tray of carrots, broccoli, and strawberries. There were also some finger sandwiches cut into triangles, which he ate six of. He vaguely wondered how long it'd been since he'd last eaten.

Finally full, Sam moved back toward the bed. His headache was receding, thankfully, and the food hadn't actually been tampered with, much to his relief. He couldn't decide whether he was overly paranoid or not, but he didn't trust Lucifer one bit.

He flexed his fingers in and out over the bedspread, growing more antsy the longer he was left alone. Not that he wanted Lucifer to return, but the walls of this room, even as spacious as it was, were steadily closing in and suffocating him. His gaze briefly fell on the Devil's small collection of classic literature, which Sam was tempted to pull out just to distract himself from going insane, but he decided against it. He wouldn't let Lucifer think he was getting comfortable here.

When the lock on the door clicked, Sam jolted to his feet in both fear and anticipation. He wasn't making any headway on an escape plan stuck in this room, so he needed an idea of what was beyond that door and the layout of wherever he was being held. Somehow he had to figure out a way to get that information.

Sam edged to the side as the door creaked open. He got a better angle of the top of the turbine just outside, and figured he was on the second floor, maybe third. From what he could tell, there were no guards stationed on the door, probably because they knew Sam was securely locked up, but that meant if he could just find a way to pick the lock, he could sneak out. But then what?

Lucifer stepped inside and shut the door, cutting off his view. "Hello, Sam." His gaze flitted to the table, and he smiled at the half-eaten veggie tray. "Feel better?"

Sam pressed his lips together. Hell would freeze over before he thanked the Devil for anything. He drew his shoulders back. "I want to see Cas."

Lucifer arched a brow, and Sam held his breath. He needed to get a look around the place, and this was the best excuse he could think of. Maybe if he led Lucifer to believe he wanted to confront Cas about the panic room, 'feed that anger,' as the archangel had said.

"I don't think Castiel would want to see you right now."

Sam frowned. "Why not?"

"He has a decision to make."

Sam's heart dropped into his stomach. Was Lucifer asking Cas to join him? Well, that made sense. Every soldier counted, right? But surely Cas would never say yes! Would he? No, Cas was searching for God, was probably the only angel left in existence who still believed the big man upstairs could—or would—do anything to help them. Cas would never abandon that faith.

Sam held his chin up. "I deserve for him to tell me to my face what he did." He inwardly winced at the harshness in his tone, but if it accomplished his purpose…

Lucifer eyed him for a long moment, and Sam tried not to fidget, but he felt as though the Devil could see right through him. "He already knows you'll never forgive him for that. That your brother will never forgive him."

Wait, what?

Lucifer's lips twitched smugly. "Now that he knows he doesn't have anywhere to go, his only choice is to join me…or die. Either the angels will kill him, or perhaps Dean Winchester himself, when he learns of Castiel's role in unlocking the panic room."

Sam's head reeled. Was that what Lucifer had been telling Cas? But the angel wouldn't believe it, would he? He wouldn't actually think that Sam and Dean would turn their backs on him, not after everything? Sam suddenly felt the urge to smash that door down and find him so he could tell Cas the truth, that Sam had forgiven him, and that Dean would too.

"You sympathize with him," Lucifer spoke up softly. "After all, your brother hasn't forgiven you either."

Sam flinched as though he'd been physically slapped. "What?"

"For cavorting with Ruby, the demon blood, setting me free" he elaborated.

Pressure like a vice closed around Sam's ribs and squeezed. "No, Dean and I worked through that."

Lucifer gave him a pitying look. "Did you? Maybe that's what Dean told you, so you'd come back. Probably gave you some speech about brothers needing to stick together. But what he really wanted was to keep you in his sights. Monitor the threat up close so he could control you."

Sam shook his head with a snort. "That's not true." If Lucifer thought this argument would sway him, then the Devil was sorely losing his touch. Dean and Sam cared about each other; that was why they always chose to stick it out, through thick and thin, no matter what disagreements they had in the past.

"No? What do you imagine Dean's thinking right now, knowing you're here with me?" Lucifer tutted sadly. "He knows what you are, Sam. He may still love you, don't get me wrong." The Devil paused, mouth curling upward. "But he's never going to truly trust you. Not after everything."

Sam wanted to clap his hands over his ears and scream, anything to block out those words. He tried to cling to his faith in Dean, to remember all the times his older brother had looked out for him. Dean had gone to Hell to save him! But for some reason, all he could recall were the fights, of Dean calling him a monster, doubting him after Sam had sworn off the demon blood. What was Dean thinking now? That Sam was weak? That sooner or later he'd give in to Lucifer and Dean would have to prep himself for killing his brother? For tracking him down just like the things they hunted?

Shaking his head, Sam skirted around Lucifer to get away, but there was no escape. He ended up pressed in the corner between the bed and small table with Lucifer slowly hemming him in.

"I know all you wanted was a normal life, Sam, and I'm sorry that's not in the cards for you. You're not normal; you're special. And unfortunately, the rest of the world is never going to accept you for who and what you are. To them, you'll always be just another monster."

Sam gritted his teeth, hearing that word echo through his mind in both Lucifer's and Dean's voices.

"But here, Sam," Lucifer continued. "With me you'll be worshiped and revered. A god among puny mortals. You'll be home."

He shook his head. "I won't be responsible for wiping out the planet!"

"How many deaths are on your hands now?" Lucifer asked.

Sam's breath stole from his lungs as the face of every victim he'd killed flashed before his eyes. Before his powers of exorcism—and after—Sam had slain demons without abandon. Innocent blood was on his hands, directly and indirectly, for who knew how many had died since the Apocalypse had started.

"What about those two hunters you came to Carthage with? The women."

Sam's heart seized. No. He hadn't had a chance to grieve Ellen and Jo yet, and now regret rent through his heart like a razor. Sam slid down the wall to the floor, bracing his head in his hands. What was he fighting for in the end? The more lives he tried to save, the more seemed to die.

Lucifer's silky voice penetrated the maelstrom of his thoughts. "I know you didn't intend to get them killed. You were just 'trying to do the right thing,' like you always do." Lucifer let out a soft sigh. "All your life, you've tried to earn approval from others, from your brother. But how can you ever make him proud, after everything that's happened? Don't you think it's better to say yes now, get it over with instead of going through the rest of your life trying to win something Dean can never give you?"

Sam's chest constricted, and he found it was getting harder to breathe. It was too much, all the guilt and fear that one day he would just screw up again, no matter how hard he tried. Why keep putting it off? Why prolong this torment? Maybe it would be better if he let go. Yeah, people would die, but they were dying already. Because of his mistakes. He could never atone for that.

Lucifer knelt in front of him. "Sam. What do you say?"

Sam closed his eyes. Everything inside him screamed no…everything except a tiny voice that was just so tired and worn. He tried to focus on what Dean expected him to do, to stay strong. But Dean had doubted him before…what if he'd already given up on Sam? He didn't think he could live with the cloud of his older brother's disappointment hanging over him.

And the more Sam dwelled on that feeling, the less reasons he could remember for why he shouldn't say 'yes.'

"Yes."

Zachariah's face split into a wide grin, and the angel spread his arms. Dean flinched as white light burst from the smarmy bastard, and he braced himself for whatever the hell it felt like to have an archangel suddenly jump inside his meat suit. Only, instead of shaking walls, exploding light bulbs, and an ear-splitting screech like a jet engine, Zachariah's smug smile twisted into a pained grimace. His eyes flashed with rage a second before he disappeared, his visage ripped away in the blinding beam.

Dean stared dumbfounded at the empty spot. "What the hell…" he muttered.

"My song exactly," came a British accented voice.

Dean whirled to find Crowley standing next to the door, an angel-banishing sigil marked in blood on the wall. The Crossroads demon removed his palm from the charred center and flicked burnt flakes from his fingers.

"Oh, that comes in handy." He reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a handkerchief to wipe his hand clean.

Dean's mouth moved, but he couldn't seem to make any coherent sounds come out. "Wh— how did you…?"

Crowley rolled his eyes. "We should go, before the winged ass comes back."

Fury finally burst through Dean's stupefaction. "What the hell are you doing? Where did you even learn that?" He glanced at the vermillion sigil, edges now dripping down the grainy wood.

"It's amazing what tidbits you can pick up when no one thinks you're watching," Crowley replied blithely, then added with a scathing tone, "and I'm stopping you from ending the world. That was the plan, wasn't it?"

"Yeah, well the plan was to kill Satan with the Colt." Dean took the gun out and slammed it on the counter. "News flash—it didn't work!"

"So I gathered. And what, now you're throwing in the towel, just like that?" Crowley huffed out an unimpressed snort.

"Lucifer has Sam," Dean growled. "I plan on taking the Devil out before he gets the chance to wear my brother to the prom, so I suggest you scram before that 'winged ass' comes back. 'Cause you can be sure as hell he'll be pissed." Dean just hoped Zachariah wouldn't be pissed at him. He could just imagine the angel going back on their deal and waiting until Lucifer possessed Sam before initiating their cosmic showdown. Dean scowled at the knowledge he'd probably have to kiss some major angel ass to soothe Zachariah's ruffled feathers. Even if banishing him was something Dean had wanted to do himself.

Crowley stuffed his hands in his pockets. "That's one way to go. Or, you could try a rescue mission."

Dean blinked. "Excuse me?"

A sly smile lifted the corners of Crowley's mouth. "I know where they are."

The air seemed to get sucked out of his lungs all at once in the desperate thrill of suffocating hope. "You know where Sam is?"

"Detroit."

And that revelation was like ice water down his spine. Detroit was where Sam had said yes in that alternate future. And Dean vaguely remembered hearing Lucifer in the field telling Sam that's where it would happen, within six months. But it'd only been a day, which meant Dean still had time…

"If we leave now," Crowley put in. "That phallus on wheels of yours could get us there in twelve hours."

Dean stared dumbly at the Crossroads demon. "What the hell is your game here?" Sure, Crowley had given them the Colt to take out Lucifer—never mind it hadn't worked. But now he was offering to help Dean rescue Sam?

"I told you," he replied impatiently. "I'm not just gonna sit back and wait for Lucifer to exterminate me and my kind."

"Yeah, but I thought after giving us the Colt you were laying low."

"Desperate times and all." He swept his gaze around the bar. "So, shall we? Or would you really prefer to be an angel condom?"

Dean's jaw tightened. What Crowley was suggesting was suicide…but then, so was turning himself over to the archangel. Well, if this rescue failed, Dean could always pray to Zach again. What would the angel do anyway, turn down his surrender out of spite for getting blasted back to Oz? Not likely. The angels needed him. And they could afford to wait a little longer…

"Fine." Stuffing the Colt back in his jacket, Dean strode around the counter toward the door. "Where exactly in Detroit?"

"I'll guide you when we get there."

Dean's brows shot up as Crowley, instead of blipping off, kept pace with him as he marched down the street in search of the Impala. For a moment, Dean considered going back and grabbing another bottle of liquor. He was going on a road trip with King of the Crossroads in search of the Devil. Oh yeah, this was going to be fantastic.

A/N: See? I told you guys you could trust me. ;) And it's about time a rescue plan has been set in motion. But will Dean make it in time? 0_o Drop me a line on what you think of the story so far; I love hearing from you!