Legion Part One

[grianchloch]

As he drove away from Sam, Dean didn't know if it was a moment of determination or a moment of weakness that had given him the clarity of mind needed to make the decision. He could have done it there and then, screamed yes to the heavens and let Michael take him, but he couldn't have stood the look of betrayal he knew would have been on Sam's face. He put his foot on the gas, not looking back.

He would do this for Sam, for all of them, and pray that the promises he would extract would be honored. Spare Sam and Castiel. Keep Bobby and Lisa and Ben safe. That's all he would ask. That, and Dean wanted to kill Zachariah himself. He wanted to see the fucker fry slowly from the inside, wanted him to know that he’d been expendable all along.

Knowing that his brother wouldn’t be far behind him, Dean drove until a new day began to light the sky, a slim sliver of blood red dawn on the horizon. There was a church on a hill overlooking the next town he approached. Old, with a spire that pierced the early morning glow. Dean imagined that it could rip through the fabric of the world, opening heaven and spilling angels out of the tear.

He drew up outside the church, parking the Impala out front where Sam would see her when he arrived. Sam would need her. She could shelter him as she'd sheltered them both all their lives, keep him safe. Dean got out of the car and smoothed his hand down over the leather of his father’s jacket one last time. It had served him well, with its pockets full of salt and holy water, guns and knives. He slipped it off his shoulders and laid it in the trunk, trying not to think of the man that had given it to him. He didn’t know what John would have thought of him, giving in like he was about to, but then, in an unremembered past, John had done the same himself to save Mary. Maybe he would understand that Dean was doing the same to save Sam and hopefully a lot of people who would otherwise die in the crossfire of an angel and demon war.

With a sigh, he closed the trunk, steeled himself and went inside the church. It was warmer than he expected. Old wooden pews were worn in the way that came from being well used. There were flowers on the altar, still fresh. It was a place that was loved by the people who worshiped there, a fitting place for the sacrifice he was about to make, a fitting place for the salvation of mankind to begin.

Dean walked to the altar, soft footfalls on the worn boards. He turned, looking out over the empty church, closed his eyes and opened his heart. He did what he'd been afraid to do before now, he let himself fully accept his decision, and even before he shouted yes into the quiet morning, the church began to shake. He prayed, for the first time in so long, not just with words, but with his soul, demanding that his conditions be met.

Around him, the air began to glow, soft at first, as if the sun was rising inside the church. He felt it, the moment his pleas were accepted. Agreement washed through him, and a distinctive angel’s blade appeared at his feet. He bent down to pick it up and when he raised his head again, Zachariah was standing in front of him. There was triumph on his face, but Dean knew that he was also a sacrifice.

A life for a life.

Zachariah glared at Dean and gestured with his hand, the expression on his face slowly turned to one of horror when Dean stayed exactly where he was and didn’t fall to the ground in pain as he’d intended him to do.

"All out of juice?" Dean sneered. "I've been looking forward to this for a very long time."

He twisted the blade in his hand and slammed it up through Zachariah's throat, snarling at him as he twisted it, relishing the shock in the eyes staring back at him.

"That's for everything you've done to us, you son of a bitch." Dean drew the blade half out, then slammed it home again. Zachariah's form twisted and jerked. Instinctively, Dean covered his eyes, crouching down and shielding his head as the angel blew apart from the inside. After the noise had died down, Dean got to his feet and looked down at the body, it's charcoal wings spread wide. He spared a thought for the devout man that Zachariah had used as a meat suit. Probably some poor deluded sap who thought he was doing the Lord’s work when he gave himself up for possession.

Maybe I'm the same, Dean thought. There were no guarantees that by doing this, he'd be helping to save the world. He knew that angels couldn’t be trusted any more than demons could. But he’d seen the future, and he was out of options. If he did this, let Michael use him, then Sam would never have to let the devil in.

The light around him intensified, along with the whining scream he knew was Michael approaching to take what was his. Dean spread his arms wide in an echo of Zachariah's death, and closed his eyes, giving himself up and welcoming the archangel in …


From the outside, it looked as if the church was full of light, brighter than the sun, then it was gone.

With a screech of brakes, Sam pulled up next to the Impala in a car from the motel parking lot that he’d hotwired so he could follow Dean. He wrenched the door open and jumped out, running towards the church as Castiel got out of the other side. He moved slower, his vessel suffering from the after effects of the alcohol he’d drunk the day and night before.

As Sam neared the church, the doors blew apart with a splintering of wood. Sam was knocked on his back with the force of the blast and watched with horror as the angel wearing his brother’s body walked over to where he was lying. Sam heard a sharp intake of breath from behind him as Castiel caught sight of Michael inhabiting Dean’s body.

Michael turned first to Castiel, his now blue eyes shining bright with righteous power. He placed a hand on the angel’s chest, but instead of restoring him as Sam expected, Castiel howled in pain as Michael ripped what was left of his power from him.

“No!!” Sam yelled, crawling to Castiel’s side and glaring up at the angel who had taken his brother from him.

"Sam,” Michael’s voice was steady, but there was a quiet menace to it that sent a chill down Sam’s spine. “Dean’s last wish was for you to be safe, and I will honor that request, but there is one last thing that I would ask of you."

Sam looked up into Michael's face, shocked at the stranger’s eyes that stared back at him. Even without the change in color, the gaze was too calm, too disconnected to belong to Dean.

"I’m not doing anything for you.” Sam was defiant.

Michael ignored him and slammed his hand against Sam's chest, pushing him to the floor. Pain blossomed across Sam’s sternum, pain that spread around his chest, wriggling and writhing and making him gasp. Michael bent over him, and whispered into his ear.

"Run, Sam."

There was a rush of wings, and Sam was left lying on the ground, clutching his chest. Castiel crawled over, his eyes widening as they helped each other to stand.

"He healed your ribs!" There was panic in the angel's voice. "You're visible again, to all of us, to …"

"To Lucifer," Sam spat out. "Can you get us out of here?"

"No!" Castiel's eyes widened even further. "He took all I had left."

"The Impala,” Sam straightened up, rubbing his ribs. "There's hex bags in the trunk. They'll hide us from angels and demons."

"I’m not sure how useful they’ll be against archangels."

"Fuck!" Sam yelled as they ran towards the car anyway.

He opened the trunk, and rummaged around, pulling out the two hex bags he'd made to Ruby's recipe. He thrust one at Castiel and stuffed one in his own pocket.

Castiel nodded his approval.

"They won't hide us entirely, but they may make it hard for Lucifer to pinpoint where we are."

"They’ll blur our signal?"

"I think that's how you'd say it."

"He's using me as bait," Sam growled.

"It would appear so. Dean would be pissed."

The unexpected statement, coming from Castiel, made Sam snort. "He didn't think this through, did he?"

"He thought he was saving you from Lucifer."

Sam didn't reply. He grabbed his bag and Dean’s from the stolen car, and stashed them safely away in the Impala. He wished Dean was there in front of him so he could lash out at him, but he never would be again. Whatever happened now, he had to make his brother's sacrifice worth something. He pulled the hex bag out of his jacket, and threw it on the ground, stomping on it with the heel of his boot until it was dust. Then he turned and lifted his hands to the sky.

"Lucifer! Come and get me!"

"Sam, no!" Castiel held the hex bag Sam had given him out towards the hunter, but Sam shook his head and danced away.

"Michael won't let this happen. Lucifer!" Sam screamed out the fallen angel's name, screamed himself hoarse, until he gave up, frustration and anger still holding his grief at bay.

He rested his arms on the Impala’s roof, letting his head drop. When he looked up, there was a handful of people cautiously making their way towards the church. They’d been drawn by the light and the noise and had seen Michael leave.

Sam climbed into the car to find the keys in the ignition. He sighed and shook his head as Castiel sat down heavily in the passenger seat and closed the door.

“Let’s get out of here. If Lucifer wants me, he can find me.”



A handful of states away, at the moment that Dean gave himself up to Michael, Lucifer raised his head, drawing a harsh breath into lungs that were failing hour by hour.

“My brother has his vessel,” he announced to the almost empty room.

Meg stood by the door, deciding that silence was the best course of action. As the body Lucifer inhabited continued to decay around him, his rage had grown. No-one was safe from his wrath, not even his most fanatical devotees.

“How hard can it be to find one human boy?” Lucifer roared, rounding on Meg.

His eyes blazed, and she could have sworn she could see hell fire burning in them.

“Soon, my lord, soon he’ll be yours. The fallen angel, Castiel? It’s believed that he’s with the vessel. He isn’t hidden from us, and it’s been reported that he grows more human by the day. I believe that if we find him, we’ll find Sam Winchester.”

Lucifer nodded, his eyes narrowing as pain lanced through his abdomen. His temporary vessel wouldn’t last much longer, it was dying by degrees no matter how much blood he consumed to keep it strong.

“Drain me another.”

Meg nodded and left the room, hurrying to the kitchen at the back of the house they had made their staging post. Reuben waited for her.

“He needs more.”

Reuben blanched, shaking his head. “If he takes many more of us, there’ll be no-one left to enjoy his reign.”

“Shut the fuck up and do it.”

The door behind them slammed open and Lucifer stood there, eyes gleaming.

“I can feel him. Destroy this place, it’s no longer needed.”



Michael headed to Detroit. He wanted to see for himself the carnage his brother was leaving in his wake. He alighted upon the tallest of the broken buildings in the wasteland that now made up half of the city. The evidence that Lucifer had felt Michael take possession of his vessel was clear to see in the still smoking wrecks of houses and cars and the bodies that littered the ground.

Michael stretched his arm out, curling his hand into a fist and then flexing his fingers. He rolled his shoulders back, testing the way the muscles bunched and lengthened. It had been a while since he’d spent any significant time in a vessel, and none of them had been built for him as this one had. Down the years, he’d occasionally been forced to inhabit a vessel from the chosen bloodline, but none, not even John Winchester, had felt completely right.

Dean fit him perfectly. He was a feat of genetic engineering, a triumph that had been thousands of years in the making.

Michael could feel Dean, trapped in his own body, unable to control it. He could feel him seething with rage at what had been done to his brother, feel the strong sensation of judgment that Dean was leveling at him, disappointment with a touch of hatred thrown in. Michael ignored it and as he gazed out over the ruined city, he heard the flutter of wings behind him. He turned to find Raphael and Gabriel looking at him expectantly. Raphael with pride and arrogance, Gabriel with curiosity and a little sadness. Michael looked at him, his blue eyes looking out of place to Gabriel who had been the focus of Dean’s green eyed glare more than once.

"You knew my vessel."

"I did. He was the one that convinced me that it was time to make a choice and take a stand, not hide away among the pagans."

"And you chose to stand with me? Then I'm grateful to him."

"Will he survive?” Gabriel asked.

"That depends.” Michael had every intention of making sure his vessel wasn’t damaged, but there were no guarantees.

Gabriel nodded.

"Why do you care about one mud monkey?" Raphael sneered.

"Dean was … unique. As is only fitting, given he is Michael's vessel," Gabriel chose his words carefully. He didn’t like being back in the nest of vipers that was his family, but Dean had been right. He couldn’t sit back and do nothing. This way, he might be able to influence events. It was what he was good at, after all.

Raphael turned away, dismissing Gabriel and addressing Michael. "Lucifer is no longer here."

"I know, but he left his mark on the place." Michael gazed out over the ruined buildings, letting his senses guide him. "There," he announced, and took off, swooping down towards an old cinema. He stood in the middle of the deserted street, searching for what had drawn him to the spot.

A demon emerged from the shadows, walking towards Michael, glancing up at the sky as Gabriel and Raphael landed behind him.

“Greetings from your esteemed brother Lucifer, the Bringer of Light, the Star of the Morning.”

Behind him, Michael could feel Raphael bristle and hear Gabriel mutter as the demon bowed low, sweeping his hand across the ground theatrically before standing up straight again, and looking Michael in the eye.

“He will meet you on a field of his choosing, at a time of his choosing and not before.” The demon swaggered closer. “And he sends you a gift.”

Now the demon swept his arm out to the side, as a rustling noise began and rapidly grew closer. The demon leapt out of the way as a hoard of rabid plague ridden demons poured from the cinema straight towards the archangels.

They could have taken flight, could have left the demons to rage below them, but it had been a long time since Michael had fought in earthly form. With a roar, he threw himself towards the first of the infected demons, and dispatched it with ease. One after another after another, they fell. Michael used the angel blade to slow them down, stabbing and hacking at the deranged creatures, then dispatching them back to where they came from. Gabriel and Raphael did the same, none of them taking many hits as the rush of the fight spurred them on.

Around them, drawn by the threat to Michael, more of the host of heaven appeared, until their numbers overwhelmed the demons. As the last of them were dispatched, the host tore at the vessels until there was nothing left of them but bloody stains on the ground.

Lastly, Michael caught up with the first demon, who had been watching from a safe spot half way down the street. He tried to duck down an alley, but Michael caught him by the scruff of the neck.

“Please! I’m only the messenger. Please don’t …” His pleading was cut short as Michael stabbed his chest and pulled out the demon.

“He plays games with us!” Raphael shouted as he and Gabriel caught up with Michael.

“When the time is right, I will stop him.”

"This is the beginning of what will be a great victory, my brother.” Raphael raised his arms and turned to the gathered angels. “Once Lucifer is dead, the host of heaven will sing your name for ages to come."

Michael watched him, shaking his head. "There is much work to be done. Lucifer’s forces and followers must be dealt with."

"Starting with the vessel!" Raphael shouted, to a roar of agreement.

"Lucifer's vessel will be useful to us." Michael turned from Raphael and addressed the host. “There is a plague of demons loose on the land. They must be dealt with, swiftly. Lucifer’s followers must pay the price for their choices so that humanity may survive. Do as my Father wishes.”

He raised his sword to the sky in a salute and the host took to the air, scattering in all directions to carry out their commanders orders.

“Humanity? That wasn’t the plan,” Raphael hissed.

“The plan is to save as many innocents as possible while ridding the earth of the demonic threat my brother unleashed upon it.”

“The plan was apocalypse, a new beginning. To create a new world, a better world.”

“It is not what my Father would have wished.”

“God is dead, Michael.”

Michael snarled, surging forward and pushing Raphael back against the wall of the burned out cinema.

“Never speak of Him in that way. We do His will, as we always have. The apocalypse was never my plan. Zachariah took liberties in my name, as did you. Now it’s time to finish this as He would want it finished.”

He let go of Raphael and took a step back, staring his brother down, aware of the fury that boiled in his eyes.

“You know what to do.”

Raphael inclined his head, and left, soaring high in the sky, heading west.

“You’ve changed,” Gabriel observed. “You knew all about Zachariah’s plans, hell, you gave him orders, and now you’ve changed your mind? Can’t say I’m sorry about that, but I am wondering why.”

“I’ve seen what my brother did to this place, and I can’t allow it to continue. Being here, finally, has opened my eyes and reminded me that God loved them, all of them. This, all this devastation, is my fault. Lucifer is insane. I put him in the cage and left him there in the dark. I made him this way."

"You did what you had to do. You can't blame yourself for protecting the world," Gabriel reasoned.

"I should have found another way, I shouldn't have blindly followed my Father's orders."

"What's done is done …"

Michael rounded on Gabriel. "He's my brother!"

Gabriel stepped back, uncertain who was speaking from Dean's mouth. Michael had always been the good son, he followed God's orders without question, but now things were different. God was gone, and Michael was faltering.

"You can't let what's long past distract you from what must be done now. You have a chance to redeem yourself. Lucifer is beyond reasoning with, and he's hell bent on destroying the world. This isn't just between you and him anymore. Look into your heart," Gabriel implored. "It's your duty to save as many as you can, to stop Lucifer. This pissing contest of yours isn't important anymore."

Michael felt acceptance in the back of his mind. He could reject it, could refuse to see sense, or he could take the counsel offered by his vessel and his brother. He slipped into deep thought, until Gabriel cleared his throat. “Don’t you have somewhere to be?” Michael glared pointedly at Gabriel.

“I do?”

“Yes, I want you at Raphael’s side. He can be volatile.”

“Ya know, this is exactly why I left in the first place,” Gabriel grumbled as he left.

Michael watched him leave and walked over to the window of an abandoned store. He stared at his reflection, running a hand over his face.

Dean’s face.

He squinted, and turned his head, looking sideways at himself, then he moved closer and examined each feature.

Raphael had been right, and so had Gabriel. It had been his plan. The apocalypse, a renewal of the earth, a fresh start. But now? Now he knew it wasn’t the right course of action. He knew.

He shook his head and put a hand over his face.

“What have you done to me?” he muttered, almost expecting an answer to come from his mouth. “You are my vessel, not my conscience. I could leave you a drooling mess if I chose to,” he growled, knowing it was useless.

With a sigh, he spread his wings and took to the sky, soaring high.





Sam’s cell rang as he drove towards South Dakota. He knew who it was by the ring tone.

“He’s done it Bobby. I couldn’t stop him.”

“Ah hell, Sam, I’m sorry. I’ve been watching the news on TV. Looks like they’ve started cleaning house. It doesn’t look pretty. Come on home, son.”

“Okay, I’m on my way. I’ve got Cas with me too. I don’t think he’s got much angel left in him.”

“Poor bastard. See you soon, you hear me?”

“Yeah Bobby, I hear you.”

Two hours later, Sam’s cell rang.

“Hey Bobby, what’s up?”

“Change of plan. You’ll never be able to get across the path the angels are cutting across the country. Hole up somewhere safe until this is over. I’ll call as soon as it’s clear.”

Sam ended the call and looked over at Cas.

“Change of plan. Your angel buddies are in the way so we can’t make it to Bobby’s.”

“They aren’t my buddies,” Castiel grumbled.

Sam sighed. He wanted to rage at the sky, gank as many demons and angels as he could, he wanted to get so wasted that he couldn’t remember his own name, never mind Dean’s. But he had to stay focused, stay on mission.

He steeled himself and headed towards a disused motel he and Dean had found a month before. They stopped at a mini mart along the way, stocking up on food. Before they set off, Castiel dug a bottle of Dean’s whiskey out of the trunk and had clutched it to his chest protectively as he climbed in the car next to Sam. Sam didn’t have the heart to make him go cold turkey and sober up.



Michael led the heavenly host into battle against the forces that Lucifer had unleashed on the world. There was collateral damage, but a fraction of the carnage that would have resulted had Lucifer been in Sam and in possession of his full power. Storms raged, the earth quaked and in places, people ran for their lives in the face of battles they could hardly comprehend.

All the while, Raphael watched Michael from the sidelines. He saw that the ruthless power still remained, the determination and dedication to the cause, but where he would have trampled over all in his path previously, now he detoured around pockets of humanity, sparing them where possible. Raphael watched and wondered.

One night, as Michael walked alone, contemplating his next course of action, he was struck by a revelation that filled his heart with unexpected dread. It was the first time in so long that God had given a command, and it was one he couldn’t carry out. Sensing that he was no longer alone, he turned to find Gabriel and Raphael standing close by.

“Our Father wants the vessel to be destroyed,” Raphael stated, aware that Michael would have received the same revelation as he had.

“He is still of use to us,” Michael dismissed the idea. “I gave my vessel my word that his brother would not be harmed. This way I keep my word and he can be used to maneuver Lucifer to exactly where we want him. There are more important things to deal with. Half the world is still infested with the demons that my brother unleashed. They must be dealt with.”

“All in good time. God wants the boy dead, Michael.”

Michael didn’t understand why the idea of slaughtering Sam Winchester disturbed him so much. He was no innocent. He had freed Lucifer. His actions had been guided by a demon, but the choices had been his to make, Michael reasoned. Michael felt a pull towards the boy, an urge to keep him alive.

“I won’t do this, Raphael.”

“You don’t have to soil your hands.”

Before he could stop him, Raphael had raised his hands to the sky.

“Sam Winchester must die! God has commanded it!”

Although the sky was empty, Michael could feel a ripple of acceptance go through the host of heaven.

“No. What God wants is not what God needs,” Michael was adamant.

Gabriel stared at him, and Raphael’s face darkened. Sam was in terrible danger, and Michael couldn’t let him die.

“You defy your Father? After all we’ve been through, you can’t turn back now, it’s too late.”

“God hasn’t given an order for a long time,” Michael spat, “and this isn’t what He needs.”

“They don’t know that,” Raphael narrowed his eyes. “They think we received revelation directly from God all along, that the path we’ve led them along was his will. Who do you think they will follow if you don’t stay with the plan?”

“Are you threatening me?”

“Yes.”

They faced off against each other standing almost toe to toe, glaring into each other’s eyes.

Gabriel watched, shaking his head. Nothing ever changed. Before, it had been Michael and Lucifer. Now, Raphael was facing off against his brother. All in all, Gabriel wished he could have stayed hidden among the pagan gods. At least they knew how to have a good time. He watched with sadness as his brothers spat hate at each other and wished not for the first time that Dean had kept his big mouth shut.

The argument escalated, the host of heaven closing in around them until Michael roared for silence.

“Our course of action has changed. God would want us to save as much of humanity as we can. The apocalypse will not happen, and as a symbol of that, Sam Winchester will be spared.”

Murmurs ran through the gathered angels as they weighed up what Michael had decreed. But Raphael was not about to let the matter go so easily.

“Michael defies God! Our Father requires that The Winchester boy be wiped from existence! Lucifer’s intended vessel cannot be allowed to live, it is as tainted as he was!”

“God has not commanded this,” Michael insisted.

“If God has rescinded the order, strike me down! Take your sword and smite me! Prove me wrong!”

“Uh oh,” Gabriel muttered under his breath.

He’d seen what defiance had cost Castiel. Cut off from heaven, he was as good as human. If Michael was going against heaven, no matter how noble his intentions, it could end badly for all of them.

“No. I will have to kill one brother before this is finished, I’ll not kill another.”

“Let me make it easy for you.”

Raphael attacked, removing his own sword from the scabbard on his back in one fluid movement and bringing down towards Michael in what would, if his enemy had been human, have been a killing blow. Michael moved quickly, his own sword now in hand, countering Raphael’s attack.

“I will not kill you.”

“You act as though it is a foregone conclusion that you would win,” Raphael snarled. “At least you still have your arrogance, Michael.”

The mighty swords clashed again and again as both archangels moved with grace and speed, weaving away from intended blows and blocking attacks before surging forward with deadly precision.

From the sidelines, Gabriel saw Michael’s foot twist and snag slightly on a patch of rough ground. It was all Raphael needed. His sword caught Michael on his right shoulder, and the host of heaven drew breath as blood oozed from the wound.

Raphael stepped back, saluting Michael.

“In defying Our Father, you have sealed your own fate, brother.”

As Michael winced and held a hand to his bleeding shoulder, Raphael raised his sword. Before he could bring it down, Michael disappeared, as did Gabriel. Raphael growled in frustration, but turned to the host.

“You all witnessed Michael’s downfall. He no longer does the work of God. We must take up that mantle. Sam Winchester must die!”



Dean watched the battle with a detachment that he didn’t understand. It was as if he was dreaming, and his body wasn’t his concern. His only concern, as always, was Sam and Sam was in danger. Dean remembered Sam telling him that Lucifer had appeared to him in his dreams and wondered if there was a way he could do the same, since he was sharing everything else with the angel. He focused on Sam, picturing him sleeping, hair flopping down over his forehead as he hugged a pillow to his chest. Dean began to feel light headed, nauseous even, then he was falling back into darkness, down a rabbit hole straight into Sam’s dreams …

The sand was hot beneath Sam’s bare feet. He wriggled his toes and raised his head, seeing nothing but sand dunes rising and falling until they met the far horizon. He sighed and turned around. There was no difference. Everywhere he looked, there was nothing but sand. No evidence of which way was north or south, no indication of which way would be better to go. He picked up a handful of sand, and let it drop from his fist. The sand went straight down, no wavering, no small gust of wind to disturb it’s course.

An unrelenting sun beat down on his shoulders and he knew he had to find shelter, knew he had to make a move, but with nothing to go on, he couldn’t decide which way to turn.

Panic welled up inside, deep and messy, but he forced it down. He didn’t have time for that, didn’t have time to let the loss of his brother overwhelm him. He needed to focus, needed to get himself out of this mess. He closed his eyes and let out a deep breath. When he opened his eyes, he turned around and began to walk.

Hours later, he was still walking, his feet sore, his shoulders burnt, his throat parched from a lack of water. Still, he put one foot in front of the other and walked straight and true. For all he knew, he could be walking in completely the wrong direction, but he was determined to stay the course he was on. No point in turning back now.

Another hour and he fell to his knees. Now he crawled, and he’d forgotten why he needed to keep going. There was nothing for him to fight for any more, no reason to survive. It would be easier to lie down on the sand and give up, to die right there instead of carrying on, instead of putting himself through hell for no reason.

But he crawled on, skinning his knees on the sand, moving until his palms were raw and tender, so much so that it hurt to put them down, but he did it anyway.

“Where are you going?”

A familiar voice asked, but Sam ignored it.

“It would be easier to give up, to let go. You know that. It would be as easy as falling asleep. Lie down in the sand and leave all this behind, all the pain and hurt and grief.”

“No,” Sam whispered through parched lips.

“Why do you still fight?”

“Because I can’t give up. Don’t ask me to give up,” he pleaded.

“You would still fight to the end? Even though he is gone?”

“Yes.” The word was savage, torn from Sam’s cracked lips.

“Why?”

“What he did has to mean something. It has to.”

“You do this for him?”

“Yes.”

Something changed. The relentless heat still remained, his body still ached, but beneath his hands and knees, he was now crawling onto grass, soft and moist, not the harsh grass that usually grew on the edges of desserts or the tall grass that grew in sand dunes. Sam crawled a little further before stumbling to his feet. At the center of the patch of grass was a tiny spring. He threw himself at it, gulping down what he could and splashing clean water across his face. It wasn’t enough to slake his thirst, it was just enough to make it bearable.

Sam turned around, and looked out over the sand. It still stretched out into the distance in every direction possible. It still went endlessly on, but the tiny oasis gave him a focal point, a pause in his relentless journey.

He became aware of someone standing behind him, but when he turned, the presence stayed behind him. So he stood still, and closed his eyes, relaxing as well as he could. Now the presence was a substantial form pressed against his back. A familiar scent accompanied it, a scent of warm leather and motor oil, gunpowder and something so unique that Sam whimpered.

Dean.

Arms wrapped around him, warm, soft lips kissed his neck, and Sam relaxed back. This was somewhere he could stay forever. Screw the world, screw angels and demons and their damned war. This was home, this was safety, this was where he belonged.

“Sorry, Sammy, you can’t stay here, neither of us can.”

Sam looked down. The patch of grass was shrinking, the palm tree that had provided shade was wilting and the small spring stuttered and died as he watched.

“You need to leave. Now. Take Cas and go.”

“What?” Sam could feel the dream slipping away and frantically turned around but there was no-one else but him standing on a dead patch of grass in the middle of a dessert.

“Run, Sam.”

Dean’s voice echoed round his head.

“Run!!”

A force pushed Sam forward, and he ran as if his life depended on it, legs pumping, feet finding it hard to get a grip in the loose sand.

“RUN!”

Sam woke from the dream with a start, sitting bolt upright in bed and looking frantically around.

“Wha …?” Cas mumbled from the other bed.

“We have to go. Now.”

Sam was already up and stuffing the few things he’d taken out of his duffle back into it.

“Where?” Cas asked, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. He scrubbed sleep from his eyes.

“South”

Part Two