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Chapter Text

Twenty-two year old Sam Winchester grinned as he fumbled with the keys one handed to unlock the apartment. His other hand, the right one he usual utilized for such tasks, was intertwined with that of his girlfriend of two years, Jessica Moore. Jess was giggling at his fumbling, cheering brightly for him when he finally managed to get the door unlocked and push it open into their apartment. It was just after three in the afternoon on a Friday and the two of them had finished up their classes for the day. Sam led the way into the apartment, tossing the keys at the wooden bowl on the end table by their worn sofa and missing horribly, while Jess kicked the door shut behind them. Then she spun and rose on her tiptoes, pressing her five foot eight frame against her boyfriend's body so she could kiss him firmly on the mouth before finally relinquishing the grip she had on his hand and skipping off toward the kitchen to get a drink. Sam smiled as he watched her go, utterly infatuated. He'd already started looking for rings.

He dumped his backpack on the floor, glancing automatically towards a picture of he and Dean during his summer vacation freshman year that was sitting on a bookshelf next to Jess's collection of poetry. Dean had managed to get away from John, the man he and his older brother had believed was his father until they were nine and thirteen respectively. Then Michael, the archangel who had been around as long as Sam could remember, had admitted the truth; he and Dean were really Michael's children. It had been a lot to absorb at that point in time but by now it was just another fact of life.

Jess had met Michael twice by now. The first time had been awkward on both their parts, though Jess had done her best to be charming, and his girlfriend had panicked for days, worrying that the man (archangel) hadn't liked her. It had taken Sam two weeks to reassure her that it hadn't been the case and he had been helped by the second meeting a year later. This one had gone much more smoothly and it was after this one that Sam had informed his father he was planning on marrying the girl. Michael had smiled and nodded but warned Sam that he she probably tell her the truth before even thinking about springing the question.

The truth. As if that weren't a tricky subject. The truth of the matter was that Sam was Nephilim, a half angel creature that wasn't even supposed to exist by Biblical decree, who had been hidden by his father for years from Heaven to prevent his unfortunate demise should an angel find out he existed. Furthermore, he had grace and, more obviously, wings that he kept hidden from sight unless he knew for sure that Jessica was home for the weekend. Then there were the visions. The first one had shown up just four months ago. He had woken at just after two in the morning in a complete panic with the image of Jessica burning on the ceiling of their apartment bedroom seared on the backs of his eyelids. Hands trembling, he had barely managed to hit the right speed dial button and he couldn't hardly get the words out to ask for help. Jess had been at her parents house that weekend and had yet to find out about those nightmares.

Balthazar had shown up within five minutes, simply appearing inside the bedroom. Once Sam managed to calm down long enough to spill the full story, the two of them had warded the house against everything but the two angels currently involved in Sam's life. Still the nightmares had persisted, the girl changing from Jess to some African American woman he didn't recognize but found out later was a former fling of Dean's named Cassie. They had tapered off last July but last night he had dreamed of John and a dark road and a vague feeling of foreboding. No, telling Jess the truth would not be an easy task.

Sam was jolted out of his thoughts by a matter-of-fact rap on the door. "I've got it," he called to Jess, already knowing exactly who'd be standing on the other side of the door before he opened it. Balthazar smirked at him cheerfully when he opened the door and Sam stepped aside to let the man, angel, Jess knew as his uncle step by. Technically it was the truth because all angels were related but, during one of those four way conversations between Balthazar, Michael, Sam, and Dean, the boys had been informed that it wasn't quite the correct term. All angels may have been related but the difference between and angel and an archangel were often vast. It would have been more accurate to say Balthazar was a distant relative but uncle was simpler and it was the explanation they stuck with.

"Hey Sammy," the angel said cheerfully and Sam scowled when one of his wings, still invisible thankfully because sometimes they reacted to Balthazar's grace and just appeared without his consent, was tugged on.

"What do you need?" he asked as Balthazar settled on the huge black armchair Jess had lugged home from some auction over Labor Day weekend and settled squarely in one corner of the living room as if it lived there.

"Can't a man just visit his favorite nephew?" Balthazar teased and Sam scowled.

"First off," he stated, "I'm pretty sure Dean's your favorite, and secondly, you were just here two days ago."

"Fine, you caught me," the angel drawled, unbothered. "Your brother and Mikey are on their way over here to see you."

"You're never going to stop calling him that, are you?" Sam asked and then froze as the meaning of what Balthazar had just said sunk in. "Wait. Dad and Dean are coming here?"

"That's what I said. They should be in late tonight or very early tomorrow morning, depending on how you want to think about it."

"But why?"

"Don't know, don't particularly care."

"Liar," Sam retorted.

"You wish kid," Balthazar returned with a smirk, standing and heading for the door, only pausing to ruffle his hair. "Call me if you need something."

"Right," Sam called after him, grinning when the door clicked shut.

"He's not staying around?" Jess asked, sticking her head around the corner.

"Not today," he said, standing and walking over to kiss her.

"Ready for tonight?" she asked him.

"Jess, you know I don't like Halloween."

"But this isn't for Halloween, not really. It's celebrating you LSAT score."

"You're dressing up," he pointed out.

"Please," she said, batting wide blue eyes at him.

"Fine," he agreed with halfhearted exasperation. She grinned and went on tiptoes to kiss him before heading past him towards the bedroom.

"Do your homework," she called over her shoulder. "We have a party to go to later."

Parties with Luis generally involved a bar with blaring music, dim lighting, and lots of alcohol. That wasn't to say that Luis was an alcoholic, his partying was infrequent, but he didn't have any aversion to alcohol either. It had ended up being just the three of them tonight, Becky and Zach Warren had returned home at their mother's request to help with some kind of Halloween fundraiser. Luis returned to their table with the latest round of shots, sliding them across the table to their owners. Jess picked up hers and raised it in a toast, a slightly tipsy grin on her pretty face. "So here's to Sam and his awesome LSAT victory," she chirped brightly.

"All right, all right," Sam said, flushing as he reached out his glass to clink it with theirs. "It's not that big a deal."

"Yeah," Jess said with a playful roll of her eyes and a giggle before turning to Luis. "He acts all humble but he scored a one seventy-four."

"Is that good?" Luis questioned before swallowing his shot in one smooth gulp.

"Scary good," Jess informed their friend, eyes bright with pride.

"So there you go," Luis informed Sam. "You are a first round draft pick. You can go to any law school you want." Luis was a Physical Therapy major who came from a family of competitive soccer and baseball players. He was the youngest of six brothers and sisters, which meant he was naturally loud and boisterous to ensure his opinion was heard.

"Actually I have an interview here on Monday. If it goes well I think I have a shot at a full ride."

"It'll be fine," Jess reassured him. Jess was an art major with a concentration on graphic design and about to graduate this coming summer. She already had an internship lined up at a major corporation their second semester, one that actually paid and that would add to the income Sam already brought in from working at a nearby coffee shop.

"Sure," Sam agreed and finally downed his shot.

"So how does it feel to be the golden boy of your family?" Luis asked, lifting the shot glass and then frowning when he realized there was no more alcohol in it.

"I'm hardly the golden boy," Sam protested but he couldn't help grinning. Dean had been exultant when Sam had broke the news, excited enough that he wasn't irritated his little brother had interrupted his latest attempt to get laid. Michael had been quiet and proud.

"Come on," Luis protested. "First round draft pick, remember?"

"Fine, fine," Sam said, laughing. "It feels awesome."

"Attaboy," Luis crowed. "Anybody for another round?"

"No," Jess and Sam chorused, causing Luis to roll his eyes.

"You two are no fun," he whined. "Especially you Sam, you're hardly buzzed. I'm going to get another drink." They watched, grinning, as Luis headed for the bar with a definite wobble to his step.

"I'm proud of you," Jess told him with a soft smile. "And you're going to knock 'em dead on Monday and nail that full ride. I just know it."

"What would I do without you?" Sam asked earnestly, turning to face his girlfriend fully.

"Crash and burn," she informed him playfully and then leaned forward to pull him into a kiss.

Chapter Text

Sam was sleeping next to Jess when he heard the soft whisper of their front door opening. He waited for the wards to activate and then frowned when he heard the door softly shut, slipping to his feet and creeping across the floor toward the living room. From there he made his way into the kitchen, tackling a shadowed figure next to the refrigerator. The two of them plummeted towards the floor, the man Sam had tackled only barely managing to stop their rapid descent towards the linoleum floor with a surprisingly graceful movement and the flaring of wings. Sam stumbled back, fumbling for the light switch and finally managing to smack it, flooding the kitchen with brilliant white fluorescent light. "Hey Sammy," Dean said with a wide grin, folding tawny wings against his back and banishing them from the visible plane.

"You asshole," Sam snarled halfheartedly as Michael came around the corner, eyes bright and amused. "Would it have killed you to knock?"

"This way's more interesting," Dean replied cheerfully. "Besides, I wanted to see if I could make those wings of yours show up." Sam's irritated look moved into a full on bitchface and he could practically feel his wings bristling with annoyance. His irritation only increased when he heard the rustle of sound that meant they'd woken Jess. She'd only fallen asleep an hour ago, they'd returned from partying and then dragging a drunk Luis into his apartment at just after 12:30 in the morning, and she had to work at her part time job at a local bookstore starting at nine in the morning. She needed the rest.

Jess stumbled into the kitchen wearing nothing but a pair of boxers, she claimed they were more comfortable to sleep in than pajama pants, and her raggedy old Smurfs shirt. "What's going on?" she asked, blinking doll like blue eyes and peering blearily past Sam to the other figures in the kitchen. "Oh, hi Dean, Michael."

"Hey Jess," Dean said, his smirk fading into a genuinely apologetic smile. "Sorry for waking you." Jess yawned and then nodded tiredly, reaching up a hand to pat Sam lightly on the shoulder.

"I'm going back to bed. Leave me a note if you have to head anywhere," she said and then stumbled off back toward the bedroom. Sam winced at the suggestion that Dean only ever came to take Sam away from her but it was valid. Jess had met Dean three times before and all three times Sam had needed to leave for the weekend to help his older brother with some hunt. Despite that, Jess seemed to have no feelings of resentment towards Dean, instead accepting the situation with a sense of amused tolerance.

"Balthazar said you two were coming," Sam informed them, leaning against the solid oak frame of the doorway. "What's going on?"

"John's missing," Dean said. "That, in itself, wouldn't be a matter for concern since he seems to think it's perfectly reasonable for him to just wander off any damn time he wants but this time he thought he was on to something."

"The demon," Sam said.

"The demon," Dean confirmed even though his little brother had not been asking. "And now he's missing. Michael can't find any trace of his soul in the last place he was heading for." Souls left traces behind, thin and almost invisible trails that one could follow and knew where to look. The trails vanished after several months but Sam knew that Michael and Dean wouldn't have lost track of the man for that long.

"Any idea where he's at?" Sam asked.

"Only clue is this," Dean said, flipping open his phone, bringing it open, and handing it over. The younger boy glared at the coordinates in indifferent font on the screen and then tossed the phone back.

"Any idea where they lead to?"

"Jericho, California, just an hour and a half from here," Dean replied. "Dad thinks its a woman in white but there's no sign of John there."

"So why are you two here then?" Sam asked, turning toward Michael for the answer. "Not that I'm not glad to see you and all, but what's the catch?"

"Dean suggested I go to search for John," Michael said, his tone even. "But doing that would leave him unprotected and put on Heaven's radar. Furthermore, he would be hunting without a partner."

"You want me to go hunt with Dean." It wasn't a question but Michael nodded anyway. "You do know I have a law school interview in two days, right?"

"You would be back by then," Michael reassured his youngest son.

"I made him promise," Dean added, silently pleading with his younger brother to agree. The demon had done something to Sam, they all knew it, but none of them knew what. Finding John to give them the information they needed to figure out why exactly the demon had chosen Sam.

"Fine," Sam agreed. "I'll pack a bag and leave a note for Jess. Dean, do me a favor and call Balthazar. He hasn't heard from you for a while anyway so you can fill him in on what you've been up to." Dean nodded, already dialing the correct number, and Sam felt a whisper of his father's grace brushing across his skin before Michael vanished. He headed for the bedroom, silently pulling out his duffel bag and packing what he'd need. Once he returned to the kitchen he scribbled Jess a quick note with a promise to call after her class, and then followed Dean to the Impala, making sure the door was locked behind him.

Jericho, California was the type of small town that more commonly graced the midwest than any other part of the United States. Houses with neat green lawns and picket fences guarded the side streets while the main one had a post office, a tiny barber shop, a cafe, the police station, and a fire station. The buildings were made of old, reddish brick and looked as if they'd stood the test of time. The best way to work these kinds of towns was to stick with one kind of story for everyone. If they tried to switch stories and stay under the radar they'd be caught by small town gossips. Luckily, on the drive over, Dean had explained that he and Michael had done most of the research for the case already. They knew that Constance Welch had thrown herself off a bridge on centennial highway after the unexpected deaths of her two children and they knew where she was buried. What they hadn't been able to get out of the husband, Joseph Welch, was why Constance had felt the need to off herself.

Whatever Michael had seen written on the man's soul had made him suspect that Constance had been a woman in white and the emotions coming from the man when he claimed he didn't know why Constance had jumped had been enough to tell Dean that the man had been less than honest. Sam had absorbed the information that his older brother was now empathic and had explained about his visions after Dean had finished spilling the case information. Balthazar had sat silently in the back as the brothers traded information but now he and Dean exchanged playful jabs as they searched for a place to stay. Sam was content to let their chatting wash over him as he watched Jericho slowly pass by, drenched in moonlight.

The town was too small to have a motel and the next nearest one was twenty miles away, so the boys ended up on the same bridge Constance had flung herself from, leaning over the railing. "So you and Jess?" Dean asked at last, glancing side long at Sam who nodded. "Have you told her yet?"

"I don't know how," Sam admitted. "I mean, how do you inform your girlfriend you're half angel and have wings?"

"Don't ask me," Dean replied with a tired chuckle. "I mean, I told Cassie and you know how that went."

"Yeah," Sam agreed pensively. The two brothers stood in silence for a moment, their peace suddenly interrupted when they realized they had an extra watcher. The ghostly form of Constance Welch stood on the railing not three feet away from them, staring. Sam stared back, frozen, even as Dean tugged frantically at his arm. The world seemed to fall away to low buzzing and Sam felt himself getting sucked into her eyes. Then he wasn't standing on the bridge anymore. Instead he was standing in an new farmhouse. There was a woman standing staring out the window and it took him a moment to realize that it was a living Constance. Her face was twisted with pain as she watched her husband kiss a younger woman good-bye.

Sam felt his stomach twist uncomfortably at the loss in Constance's face when she turned to look straight through him. She had composed herself when Joseph stepped through the door and she greeted him politely enough before asking where he'd been. He saw the instant Constance registered the lie Joseph tried to feed her and was struck by the rage and betrayal in her gaze as she glared holes in Joseph's back. Then the world was whirling around him, his only constant the clock on the mantel that ticked on at a rapid pace. Moments later he was standing in a bathroom as Constance Welch held her children's heads under the water.

"Sam? Sam," Dean's voice called distantly and Sam felt himself being pulled back into the present. His eyes were still locked with Constance's, even as his knees buckled, and he could only watch in mute horror as she tumbled off the railing of the bridge towards the dark water below. "Are you okay?" Dean asked, his voice strained and worried as Balthazar hovered worriedly behind them.

"Yeah," Sam whispered breathlessly. "Yeah. I'm fine."

"What happened?" Dean demanded and Sam struggled to find the words to describe what he'd just seen.

"It was something to do with his grace," Balthazar spoke up, voice uncharacteristically serious. "It went crazy when their eyes met."

"Constance, she showed me something," Sam managed to get out, his voice shaking slightly. "She, god this sounds so wrong, she caught her husband with a younger woman and she couldn't take it. She drowned her kids. Then I guess she threw herself off the bridge."

"Then Dad was right," Dean said in a business like tone, rubbing comfortingly at Sam's arm. "She is a woman in white."

"Yeah," Sam agreed, trying to stand and then cursing when his legs refused to hold him up. "Why did I see how she died though?"

"My best guess is that it's connected with your visions," Balthazar said, helping Sam to his feet and half carrying the young Nephilim toward the Impala. "Whatever part of your grace allows you to have visions allowed Constance to feed her own memories to you."

"Whatever it was, it sucked," Sam said as he sank into the passenger seat of the Impala only to flinch in pain, filled with the dazed realization that some time during the entire mess his wings had appeared. Sam's wings were a deep blood red that darkened into black at the very tips. They weren't the wings of anything seen on earth nor could they mistaken for such a creature. He folded them carefully before settling back in the seat, too exhausted to worry about the strain the action would put on his back later. Dean patted him on the shoulder after slipping into the driver's seat before pulling on to the road and heading for the next town over to get them a hotel room.

Michael found John Winchester, or what was left of him, in a hotel room in Oregon. A yellow eyed demon, the fallen angel Azazel, stared out of John Winchester's lifeless eyes and grinned at the archangel. "Hello there Michael," he purred, his viciously delighted tone sounding wrong coming from John's mouth. "You're here about your boy, aren't you?" The demon seemed unworried by the sight of the archangel and at that Michael felt anger rush through him. "Such a precious child," Azazel continued. "He had so much potential, even before I marked him as mine."

"He is not yours," Michael growled coldly, prowling forward toward the demon.

"Oh but he is mine," Azazel responded with a wide smirk. "My Boy King to shape as I will. You can't stop this Michael. The process has already begun." The archangel realized too late what Azazel was planning on doing and lunged forward to stop the demon. It didn't matter. Azazel's bloody hand came down on the symbol and for the first time since his boys were born Michael was catapulted out of his vessel and sent rocketing towards Heaven, leaving the demon possessing John Winchester behind.

Digging up graves was hot, sweaty work that neither of the boys particularly enjoyed but that had to be done. Balthazar helped, reluctantly, and both Nephilim took great pleasure into taunting him on his lack of skill. Balthazar's response was to toss the shovel at the door of them and flutter off to go sit on the hood of the Impala while they worked. Neither one minded while they exhumed Constance Welch's body and salted and burned the remains. They were just finishing filling up the hole when the vision struck. Dean watched with wide eyes as his younger brother's legs simply went out from under him and he plummeted toward the ground. He ditched the shovel and dove forward to catch Sam before his little brother's head hit the ground. Balthazar was joining them in an instant as Sam's wings snapped onto the visible plane and he began thrashing. "Jess, no, no,no," Sam was mumbled, his voice sounding choked with unshed tears. "No, please no. Jess!"

When Sam's eyes snapped open a moment later his cell was ringing and Balthazar slipped it free from his pocket to answer it. "It's okay Sammy," Dean murmured, a hand brushing gently through his hair, but Sam was crying openly, already knowing what the phone call was going to say.

Balthazar turned back to the brothers, expression solemn and closed off. "Sam," he began hesitantly, as if not sure how to spill the news.

"Jess," he replied weakly, sitting up and bowing his head to rest against his knees. "Jess is dead."

Chapter Text

Allison Regan was not a popular girl in Breckenridge, California. Her father, dead a year ago now, had been a serial killer that had murdered eighteen little girls before being caught while attempting to kill his own daughter. Instead of garnering sympathy for Allison in the local community it had only made her an outcast, a pariah to be stared at and pitied but not approached or spoken to. It hadn't started out that way. In the beginning people had showered Allison with sympathy. Then, after her father was buried in an unmarked grave in the back of the cemetery (he had been shot by the police while trying to escape custody), people had begun to die. There was no connection between the deaths, except for the fact that each person had seen Allison just hours before their death.

She knew she was involved in the deaths. Hell, she could still hear her departed, but not missed, father crooning in her ear about blood and vital organs and the desperate way someone struggles to breathe when blood is entering their lungs. She knew, without anyone telling her, that it was his fault those people were dead. Everyone else knew it too, even though they wouldn't say it, and that was why they stayed away. It was lonely, living alone in a house with her ancient great aunt who wasn't all there on her best days, but no one died and she had to be content with that. Then two strangers came to town, one tall and brown haired with the sad eyes of someone who'd just lost someone close to them and one a bit shorter with blonde-brown hair and the greenest eyes she'd ever seen. Visitors were unusual in Breckenridge, but not so unusual that they became the talk of the town. They stayed in old Lily Prince's bed and breakfast until one of the pipes burst and flooded the place after they'd only been in a night.

Lily was a friend of Allison's aunt and came over from time to time just to make sure Aunt Grace was doing okay and Allison had some company once in a while. That was how the Winchester brothers, and Lily Prince, ended up staying with Aunt Grace and Allison. It made her nervous. Dad was whispering again, eager for more bloodshed, and she found herself wondering tiredly when it would all stop. She considered jumping off the ancient Wilder Bridge, Judy Hammond jumped off that bridge when they were in the seventh grade and she was the last real friend Allison ever had, but she didn't think she was brave enough to actually do the deed so she just kept trudge on, making sure to stay away from the visitors and not to speed too much time with Lily Prince.

Sam was a wreck. His little brother was broken from Jess's sudden death and Dean didn't know what to do. He was hurting too, he'd genuinely liked Jess and though he hadn't known her well she'd seemed like a nice girl, but Sam's hurt was just so much worse. He'd confided in Dean, tearfully the night before Jess's funeral, that he'd been actively looking for a ring. That had been a blow to the stomach but Sam had needed to tell someone and Dean had already known the thing was Jess had been serious. He just hadn't realized how serious.

Right now his little brother was staring at the window, watching the girl who was one of the residents of the house, Abigail or Alyssa or something like that, make her way up the long twisted drive. Sam's mouth was pulled into a frown and he was staring at something over the fifteen year old's right shoulder with the same expression he usually reserved for bloodsucking monsters. "What is it?" Dean asked and Sam turned to him, the hurt masked under something more serious.

"There's a ghost following Allison," he said. "A nasty one. I can see it." Balthazar, who had been staying invisible since they'd arrived at Breckenridge, was suddenly right there, standing next to Dean.

"How long has it been there?" the angel asked.

"Since we got here at least," Sam replied. "Maybe longer."

"Any luck getting Dad's attention?" Dean asked and the angel shook his head, looking concerned. It was as if, between Jessica's death and Michael's sudden disappearance, all the sarcasm had been wiped out of him.

"We need to find out what's going on with Allison," Sam said. "And what happened to Dad?"

"Are you sure you're up for it?" Dean questioned. "I mean after..." He trailed off awkwardly, unsure how to broach the subject, and then finished with, "everything that just happened."

"It might help," his younger brother said and that was all it took for Dean, desperate to bring some light back into Sam's eyes, to agree.

Allison was sitting at the kitchen table working on Algebra homework and keeping an eye on Aunt Grace who had gotten it into her head that she could cook. According to Lily she had been able to do so once but at this point Allison was more worried about her Aunt burning down the house than any kind of concoction she might produce. That was when one of the Winchesters came in, the taller one with the sad eyes. Instantly Dad was there, whispering smoothly in her ear. The tone made her shudder slightly but she blocked out most the words as the Winchester sat down across from her. "It's Allison, isn't it?" he asked and she glanced up from her homework, forcing a vague smile.

"Yeah," she said, trying to come off as distracted and mostly absent from the conversation. She'd found that was the best way to deter her father from killing anyone. The less engaged she was with a person the more likely it was her father would dismiss the relationship as nothing more than politeness and ignore the person instead of brutally eliminating them.

"I'm Sam," he said and it took all her willpower not to cuss at him. Introductions were the first step toward a relationship and Dad saw relationships as threats to his control over her life. Even dead he was a controlling bastard. "I think we need to talk Allison," Sam continued. "About the ghost on your shoulder." Allison felt her eyes widened as she gave Sam Winchester her full attention for the first time since he and his brother had invaded her life.

"You can see him?" she half asked, half demanded and Sam nodded. She breathed out an almost relieved sigh and then her words came out in a rush. "He won't let me talk to anyone. He just hovers there whispering in my ear about all the ways he's going to take them apart. He killed people, when I still had friends or people I could talk to."

"Who is he?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowed at the icy figure she knew was hovering just over her shoulder.

"My father."

Sam may have been the computer expert but Dean knew his way around databases enough to discover there was no records of violent death attached to the house. There was one chilling possibility. There had been a serial killer living in Breckenridge, a man named Nathan Regan who had murdered eighteen little girls in their own homes, scalping them before leaving the bodies to be found by local authorities. Sam entered the room, shutting the door softly behind him and then turning to look at Dean. His expression was grim. "What'd she say?" he asked his younger brother. "Did she know Casper the no so friendly ghost was following her around?"

"Yeah," Sam replied, looking tired. "It gets worse too. She claims the ghost is her father and that he's actually been killing people if she spends too much time with them."

"Do you happen to know her last name?" Dean asked, turning back to the computer. "Because I have a Nathan Regan here, killed by police last year. He was a serial killer and he knocked off eighteen girls between the ages of six and fifteen before he was caught."

"That would be our ghost," Sam said. "He was staring at me the entire time we talked."

"So it looks like a standard salt and burn," Dean said, snapping the laptop closed. "Unless the spirit is connect to Allison."

"Let's hope not," Sam muttered, already reaching for his shoes. "She knows where he's buried, said she'd show us the place."

"Right," Dean replied. "Balthazar went out to check on Dad's last location but he said we'd be good for the next four hours or so. Let's get this case wrapped up and then maybe head to another town that doesn't have creepy supernatural problems."

"Good luck with that one," Sam muttered, standing and heading for the door.

Fifteen minutes later they were faced, once again, with the idea that nothing ever went simply for them. They had dug up, salted, and burned Nathan Regan's remains with the help of Allison, who had actually insisted on lighting up her father's corpse herself. That part had gone smoothly. Despite his tendency to hover over his daughter's shoulder, Nathan had done nothing to stop them from destroying what was left of his body. That should have been their first clue that something was wrong. He also hadn't vanished. Instead he'd become completely visible and cackled at them viciously. "Fuck," was Dean's surprisingly eloquent response before the spirit that had once been Nathan Regan flung him into the shed the man had been buried behind to hide him from the other graves in the cemetery.

"What's going on?" Allison yelped, eyes wide as Sam ducked Nathan's suddenly airborne headstone.

"He's attached to you, not to his remains, so he's still around," Sam explained, panting from the rush of adrenalin pouring through his veins. "Unfortunately we have no fucking clue how to fix that."

"Great," Allison muttered, ducking a flying bush roughly the size of her entire body. Sam deciding then that she was taking this whole situation remarkably well. Then she turned to her father. "Stop it Dad," she demanded. "You're being a jerk." Nathan snarled at her but she looked unworried. "Seriously," she snapped back. "I can talk to whoever I want. I don't need your permission. Besides, you're dead."

"You don't make good choices," Nathan shot back, speaking for the first time since he'd become visible.

"I don't make good choices? Last time I checked you killed eighteen girls and then got killed resisting arrest. You want to revise your opinion?"

"Judy-"

"Judy was one person with chronic depression," Allison interrupted. "And I didn't follow her off that bridge, did I? Let's face it; you're just mad you can't control me anymore. Well you know what I have to say to that? FUCK. OFF." She screamed the last to words and Nathan's whole form shimmered before seeming to explode. There was a moment of silence as the light from his form washed over them and then they were almost knocked over by a blast of pure sound. When their ears stopped ringing the three of them could only stare at each other before breaking out into semi-hysterical laughter.

"Do you guys know where you're headed next?" Allison's voice was soft, sweet, and surprisingly more confidant without her father haunting her.

"We're not sure," Sam admitted. "Where the wind takes us I guess." Dean was saying goodbye to Lily Prince at the front step of the house with Allison's great aunt, Grace, bumbled about the conversation. Allison nodded, handing over the last of their luggage.

"Whoever you lost," Allison told him gently. "I'm sorry about it." She pressed a gentle hand against his arm and then turned back toward the house, her step lighter. Dean slipped by Allison, patting her on the shoulder as he went, and heading over to Sam.

"Ready to leave this town?" he asked.

"Yeah," Sam replied. "Did you let Balthazar know we were leaving?"

"Yes I did," Dean replied with an eye roll. "Stop being such a worry wart bitch."

"Jerk," Sam shot back, for a moment feeling as if Jess's death weren't crushing him. That maybe he might actually make it through all this. As they drove away from Breckenridge the rear view mirror caught the sight of Allison waving farewell.

Chapter Text

The drive to Alabama was a long one, and not one that Dean ever wanted to make again. Over thirty hours cramped in the Impala with a moping younger brother who was having trouble keeping his wings off the visible plane. The older Nephilim didn't even want to attempt to count the number of times they'd been forced to pull over until Sam could control his wings and emotions again. Balthazar had remained uncharacteristically silent in the back of the Impala, his expression strained and the air around him crackling with nervous energy. It hadn't helped Sam's wing issues at all. The angel hadn't found any sign of Michael but he claimed there had been a banishing mark that would have sent the archangel hurtling back to Heaven. None of them were really sure what to do about that particular piece of information.

Now Sam sat on the raised porch of the cheap rental they were staying at while Dean made his way across the beach. They were here because of a vision that had woken Sam two midnights ago, shaking and screaming about blood. It had taken angelic intervention from Balthazar to keep the manager from calling the cops on grounds of attempted murder and Sam had spent the rest of the night shaking and doing research. The story had broke at nine the next morning; twenty year old college student murdered. Boyfriend not a suspect. Sam had looked torn between swearing and crying when he'd seen the picture of Alan Henderson, the boyfriend, a day later. Dean had understood the sentiment when Sam had managed to get out that the boyfriend killed her. It only got worse when he explained how.

It turned out that Alan Henderson was a witch and he'd needed a human sacrifice. His girlfriend, Tish Morrison, had made an excellent sacrifice. If Sammy's vision could be believed then the poor girl had never stood a chance. It didn't help that Tish had looked sort of like Jess. Dean sighed at that thought and headed back toward his little brother. Sam was staring at the softly churning waves as if he expected Jess to come walking out of them as bright and whole as she'd ever been. Dean had a suspicion that the Messiah would return to earth before Jess but he didn't say that, just sat down next to Sam and watched the waves.

"Do you think Tish is still hanging around?" Sam asked finally and Dean knew his little brother wasn't actually asking about the murdered girl. Instead he was asking about Jess.

"I don't know," Dean admitted honestly. "Sometimes in graveyards, when my empathy is acting up, I get impressions of feelings but I don't know whether the dead are lingering or if the living are just leaving such strong impressions." Sam nodded, his expression heartrendingly melancholy, and turned his gaze back towards the waves. They slept peacefully that night, lulled into dreams by the whisper of the ocean against the shore.

Tish was...confused. One moment she'd been bleeding out in Alan's basement, taking in her last sipping gulps of air, and in the next she'd been floating. There had been a little boy, barely six years old but with ancient eyes and what sounded like a Welsh accent, who had tried to take her away. She'd refused. Tish Morrison had only lived for twenty years, short in the big scheme of things and short even to her. Too short. Her life had been cut away by someone she'd loved. Someone she'd thought had loved her in return. Alan was going to pay for that, even if she had to burn out what semi balance of life she had left to do it.

She ended up in what felt like someone's dreamscape. There was a blonde girl burning on the ceiling and for a moment Tish thought it was her until she saw blue eyes instead of brown and curves where she was all straight lines. Not her then. Some other blonde. Tish winced and then jumped when a hand landed up her shoulder. She turned and looked up and up until she was looking into a face lined with pain. For a moment she could only stare. Then she found her words and used them. "Sorry for intruding."

"I don't think it's your fault," he replied. "Tish, right?"

"Yeah," she agreed immediately. She was already dead. What more could he do to her?

"I tend to attract ghosts, or something like that," he told her with a rueful glance. The scene had frozen with the blonde girl on the ceiling.

"Who's that?" Tish asked, voice soft and sad because that girl could have been her had Alan decided to use some kind of magic instead of just slitting her throat.

"My girlfriend, Jess," he told her, his expression twisting to fill with hurt. "I didn't see her die personally but I saw it."

"Like a vision?"

"Exactly like that." Tish reached up to rub a comforting hand against his shoulder until she felt some of the tension wash out of it.

"I'm Sam," he offered at last. "Sam Winchester."

"Tish Morrison," she replied. "But I suspect you already know that. Probably saw it on the news or something." Sam nodded even as the world began to fade around him. Tish was left alone as Sam Winchester woke up.

Getting back to earth had been exactly as difficult as Michael had expected it to be. For all that Heaven was full of paperwork and red tape, they were remarkably good at keeping track of people. That also meant they weren't very happy that Michael had slipped their watch for twenty-six years. Slowly he pulled himself into his borrowed body, scowling at the dried blood angel banishing symbol on the wall. A demon shouldn't have been able to do that. Even an angel turned demon like Azazel. That meant he'd forced a human to paint the symbol. It also meant there was probably a dead body lingering around here somewhere. He forced that thought away and turned his attention toward finding Balthazar and his boys.

Sam woke to the rushing up the ocean and the echo of Tish Morrison's voice in her ears. For a moment the world felt peaceful and safe, just the lull of the ocean and a wry female murmur, and then everything came crashing down. Jess's death washed over him, crushing any chance of further peace he had. His whole body shook, tears sliding down his cheeks as he muffled his sobs with a fist, biting down on his knuckles until he tasted the bright copper of blood. Her death was his fault. He'd left her alone and vulnerable. He'd left her alone.

"Sammy?" Dean's voice was tentative on the other side of the door. Sam took a moment to compose himself, cutting off his sobs and wiping the tears off his face before he answered.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

"No one's stopping you," Sam snarked half-heartedly. Dean came in warily, as if expecting a bomb or Sam holding a gun to his head. "I dreamed last night," Sam told his brother after a minute. "At least I think it was. And Tish was there."

"You mean she's hanging around?"

"Maybe," Sam suggested with a shrug. "I mean she knows she's dead but we didn't get to talk much before I woke up."

Dean absorbed that for a moment and then asked, "Do you think maybe you could get into contact with her there?"

"We won't know until we try," Sam said and Dean nodded, springing to his feet and escaping the room before their talk ended up turning into a so-called chick flick. Sam smirked tiredly at his brother's retreating back and then buried his head in his hands. For a moment, with his eyes closed, he could almost believe that he was simply taking a break from college and that he would be returning to Jess in a few days. Then Dean called his name from the front door and the illusion shattered, washing over Sam in a crushing wave of defeat. He took a moment to compose himself before calling back that he was coming and heading for the door.

The drive to the graveyard was silent, filled only with the crackle of the Impala's tires on the road and the dryish heat drifting through the open windows. The cemetery was empty and it wasn't difficult to find Tish's grave; they simply walked to the one with fresh flowers practically overflowing from the headstone. The name carved on the headstone said Letitia Morrison, beloved daughter. March 7, 1987- November 11, 2005. For a moment that name was replaced with another, Jessica Lee Moore. Then Sam shook his head to displace the image and knelt, reaching out a hand toward the headstone. Balthazar's hand clamping on his wrist stopped him. "Fifteen minutes," the angel said firmly. "If you're under longer than that I will pull you out regardless of whether it hurts you or not. Understand?" Sam nodded and the angel released him, stepping back.

Sam took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, and then reached out his hand to touch the sun warmed stone before him. For a moment nothing happened. Sam squeezed his eyes shut tight, willing something to happen, and then yelped, jerking back from the headstone as something white hot shocked his hand. "Son of a bitch," he heard Dean mutter from behind him. "It worked."

Tish Morrison looked at her hands, turning them this way and that as if it would suddenly explain why she was transparent, and then turned a smile on Sam. "Hello again," she said. Then her eyes turned to Dean and Balthazar. "Who're they?" Sam couldn't help it then, he found himself laughing almost hysterically and Tish flickered wildly. "Don't do that," she said with a scowl, looking both childish and fearsome at the same time.

"Sorry, sorry," Sam apologized, wiping tears away from his cheeks.

"It's okay," Tish told him, stepping forward the reaching up to place a surprisingly cold hand against his arm. Her expression was concerned. "Are you okay?"

"Not yet," Sam found himself telling her honestly. "But I think I will be."

"Good," Tish told him as if she had been prepared to rip apart the universe to get an answer like that, which was strange because he barely knew her. "I think I've been in your head," she continued. "Although I'm not sure how. It's a very depressing place."

"You're attracting restless spirits then," Balthazar spoke up before Dean could even mention Tish's last comment. "Maybe even absorbing them. That could be problematic."

"You think?" Sam could help asking and the angel shot him a flat, amused look.

"So Tish," Dean said before dry comments could escalate into a full out sarcastic war, and it had happened before once Sam reached his teen years and started in on sarcasm. "You in the habit of getting inside people." The ghost wrinkled her nose and full on scowled at him, a bitchface that would make Sam proud. Dean stared back, unashamed of his word.

"I will slap you," she informed him. "Don't think I won't."

"Can you even do that?"

"Do you want to find out?"

"Fair point," Dean conceded as Sam groaned.

"So sweetheart," Balthazar cut in. "How'd you end up here?"

"Gee, let's think," Tish drawled impatiently. "I got killed by my boyfriend, who happens to be a witch, to do some kind of hinky voodoo shit or something of the like the raise his dead sister from the grave. Apparently it didn't work because I haven't see Mandy wandering around yet looking like she's fresh out of an episode of the Walking Dead and her grave hasn't been touched. Any other stupid questions?"

"How do you feel about eliminating him before he tries again?" Dean suggested. Tish considered for a moment, tilting her head slightly in the same fashion Michael had when Sam and Dean were younger and he hadn't understood something.

"That," she said at last. "Sounds like a splendid idea."

Getting rid of Alan, or at least terrifying him enough that he would never touch witchcraft again, didn't work smoothly, as things were wont to do when the Winchesters were involved. First of all, because Alan's ritual had worked; if not in the way he had wanted it too. Tish had led them back to the basement where she had died only for them to be greeted by the ghost of Mandy Henderson. She was six and slight with what looked like it had been flaxen hair and huge green eyes. The boys visibly paused midstep and Balthazar's palms began to glow with grace but Tish simply stepped in front of them and said, "Hi Mandy." The little girl scowled at her and Tish planted her hands on her hips. "Don't even try it sweetheart." Mandy scowled a moment longer, flickered, and then vanished.

"That was...freaky," Dean said as they followed Tish further into the basement.

"On a scale of one to ten that wasn't even a two," Balthazar drawled which earned him a scowl. Tish snorted and Sam shook his head, following right on her heels. Alan Henderson was waiting for them.

Michael ended up in Alabama. It had taken hours of careful manipulation of his grace to track down Balthazar but he wasn't disappointed by the result. He arrived in time for the ghost of a six year old to send the angel flying across the room into a wall. Dean dodged the ghost next, letting out a string of cuss words that Michael had definitely never taught him (thank you John Winchester for that), and Sam was approaching the witch at the far wall cautiously. The young man was glaring fiercely at Sam, as if a look alone could cause Michael's youngest son to spontaneously catch fire and crumble into ashes. He was muttering something under his breath that Michael recognized too late as a spell that sent Sam flying up toward the ceiling.

"Stop it!" a voice suddenly shrieked and the teenage witch yelped as another ghost appeared right in front of him.

"T-tish?" he stammered and the girl snarled at him, hair flaring wildly around her translucent face.

"No duh, moron. Who else did you expect? Madonna?" The witch looked sidelined, Dean was chuckling even as he struggled to catch his breath, and Sam who had been dropped to the floor was grinning. "You really thought I was going to just let you kill me and not haunt your ass to kingdom come?" the girl continued. "Especially after what you just tried?"

"You're dead," he spit out, furious and afraid.

"So is Mandy," the girl snapped, motioning a hand toward the reforming six year old. The witch scowled and began mumbling again. That was when Michael decided the whole matter had gone far enough. He reached out a hand, blazing with grace, to touch the witch's forehead, and the empty body crumpled to the ground. "Huh," the girl said, seeming mildly intrigued. "That was interesting."

"Tish," Sam yelped suddenly and she spun to see the six year old lunging at her.

"Amanda Marie Henderson," the girl, Tish, barked and the six year old jerked to a startled halt. Tish planted her hands on her hips and scowled, her expression fearsome. "You know better than that young lady." Amanda opened her mouth as if to protest and then snapped it shut again, as if unsure what to say. "It's time to move on Mandy," Tish continued, her tone gentling. "Both of us. Understand?"

"I don't wanna go," Mandy wailed and Tish knelt so the two ghost were eye level.

"I know," she said softly. "Neither do I. But do you know what?"

"What?" came the answer, accompanied by a little sniffle.

"We'll be waiting for everyone else to join us," Tish said gently. "And we'll be there to greet them when they show up." Michael felt more than saw when the Reaper arrived, a six year old with an accent. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah," Mandy said with another sniffle, taking Tish's hand. The girl turned them, smiling gently at Sam.

"I hope things get better for you," she said and then the two of them vanished with the Reaper in a flash of light.

Sam sat on the steps of the rental house staring as the setting sun seemed to sink into the distant ocean. They had stayed one more day after Tish's abrupt vanishment, Alan's death, and Michael's return. That night Sam had dreamed about following Jess through a foggy summer field, never quite able to catch her. He knew Jess was in Heaven, so had been too genuinely kind not to be there, but he also guessed that he'd probably never get to see her again. He was a Nephilim which was probably a one way ticket to Hell. Michael came to sit next to him, arms on his knees. They sat silently for a moment and then his father said, "I'm sorry about Jessica."

"Me too," Sam said tiredly. Together they sat and watched the sunset until Dean hollered at them to move ass because they were leaving.

Chapter Text

Dean jolted out of sleep to the sound of his cell blaring November Rain. It had seemed like a good idea to set that as a ringtone at the time but now it was just pissing him off. He fumbled blindly at the nightstand, ignoring Balthazar's amused chuckle, as Sam groaned, "Shut that off."

"Shut up bitch," Dean muttered muzzily as he finally located the offending object.

"Jerk," he heard Sam mutter sleepily back as he flipped open his phone.

"Winchester." He blinked as the person on the other end of the line chuckled gruffly.

"Mornin' Dean," Bobby Singer said. Dean just groaned in response. "I think I may have found a case for you two, if you're interested."

"Definitely," Dean replied, instantly feeling more alert. "Lay it on me. What have you got?"

"Seven people mysteriously kidnapped, considered dead by the claw marks left behind, at Blackwater Ridge in Colorado," Bobby said. "Four young men were murdered at a campsight, no names released. Then, two days later, Haley Collins, her younger brother, and a ranger named Andrew Wilkinson went to search for one of the murdered young men, presumably Haley's other brother Tommy. Wilkinson's dead body was found along with an injured and delirious Haley but there was no sign of the brother. Haley claimed it was some kind of monster that imitated Tommy's voice and then dropped out of the trees to attack them. The authorities don't believe her, of course, but I did some digging and I think she's on to something. A dozen people have vanished every ten years almost since people started flocking to the area."

"Wendigo?" Dean questioned, grinning when Sam sat up at that.

"That's my best guess. You boys on it?"

"Definitely," Dean said. "Thanks Bobby." Then he turned to Sam. "Possible Wendigo in Colorado?" Sam nodded, already rolling out of bed.

"Let's get moving. It's going to be a long drive."

"You two do know that we can just zap you there, right?" Balthazar commented, arching his eyebrows.

"Shut up," both boys chorused and Michael had to bite down laughter at the indignant look on Balthazar's face.

Haley Collins's head ached. She groaned, rolling over in bed and the pounding increased. She wasn't entirely sure how she'd ended up in her own bed in her home, her very empty home. She'd been guzzling alcohol by the bottle, trying to drown the pain of losing both Tommy and Ben, and the last thing she remembered was standing outside swaying and screaming at the stars. It hadn't helped. Every time Haley closed her eyes she could see Tommy's bloody, torn up campsite or Ranger Wilkinson's limp body falling from a tree or some kind of human shaped thing dropping down to slice at her and steal Ben away from her. A muffled sob broke free and she tilted her aching head to cry into her pillow. That was, of course, when somebody decided to knock on her door.

For a moment she just laid there, hoping they would go away. It didn't work. Instead the knocking became more persistent. Haley sat up, trying to ignore the pounding in her head, and fumbled for her robe. The knocking came again and she slurred, "I'm coming, I'm coming," as she stumbled towards the door. She drew back the bolt and pulled the inside door towards her only to be stopped, stunned, by the sight of two men in suits who couldn't be much older than she was. "Haley Collins?" the shorter of the two asked and she nodded mutely before realizing just giving her name out to strangers when she lived practically in the middle of nowhere probably wasn't a good idea. Not that it mattered. If she was killed she'd just join Tommy and Ben in whatever afterlife there was waiting for her.

"I'm Sam Anderson and this is my brother Dean," the taller of the two continued. "We're from the FBI and we're here about the murders that have been happening recently. We were informed that you were the only survivor and as such we're here to interview you."

"Come on in," Haley said tiredly, pushing at the screen door so it swung open. She led the two to the kitchen and settled on one of the high stools by the island. "Start from the beginning," Dean requested and Haley nodded.

"A week an a half ago one of my brothers, Tommy, went out hiking for with a couple of college buddies. He's nineteen and responsible and he promised to video message me or call every day. When he missed a day after almost a week I figured he'd just slept in or they'd had to move camp early. He had a satellite phone so I called and left a message on that. When I didn't get a response by evening I started to worry," Haley swallowed hard at the thought.

"Do you have the message he sent you the night before?" Sam asked and she nodded. "Can I see it?" Haley stood and exited to the den, waking up the sleeping laptop and pulling up Tommy's last video, the one she could bare to erase, before returning to the kitchen and handing the laptop over.

"So you went up to search for Tommy, right?" Dean asked.

"Yeah," Haley agreed, her voice thick with unshed tears. "You see, the ranger station wouldn't file a missing persons report because the permit was still good and he wasn't supposed to be back yet so I convinced a man, Ranger Andrew Wilkinson, to go up to Tommy's last known camping spot with my other brother Ben and I. We hiked up there and the entire place was torn to shreds. The tents were in ribbons and there wasn't signs of anyone except for the blood." Haley choked on a sob and then hesitated, unsure whether or not she should finish the story. "I'm going to sound insane soon," she warned them, staring at both agents through watering eyes.

"Haley the brain is an amazing thing," Sam told her. "And sometimes, in times of stress, it interprets situations in an unusual way to cope with them. Nothing you are going to tell us is going to make us think you're crazy." Haley nodded hesitantly and accepted the kleenax he handed her, blowing her nose and wiping away her tears before continuing.

"We split up and looked around but we didn't see any sign of them. That's when I heard the voice. It sounded like Tommy yelling for help," Haley sniffed and then continued. "I just went sort of crazy. I was screaming for him and crashing around and Ben finally had to grab me to get me to stop. Then it was quiet, dead quiet. We just stood there for a couple minutes before Ben yelled for Ranger Wilkinson. He didn't answer; not exactly." Haley gulped and glanced down at the floor, almost wishing she was drunk now because maybe the story would be easier to tell. "His body just dropped out of a tree and hit the ground, neck snapped. Ben said there'd been some shooting while I was screaming and maybe whatever Ranger Wilkinson had been shooting at had gotten him. That's when it came. It dropped out of the trees like a fucking nightmare, all claws and power, and it grabbed Ben. I don't remember much after that. Just a burning pain on my side and Ben screaming my name."

"I don't want to give you false hope," Dean told her. "But there is a chance Ben might still be alive."

"Just bring my brothers back, at the very least so I can bury them," Haley begged.

"We'll do the best we can," Sam promised. "Haley, can I get a copy of this video."

"Sure," she agreed. "Just email it to yourself or something. I'm not real great with computers. That was Tommy's thing." She sniffed at the name and blew her nose again. They both thanked her for her time and left with another promise to try to bring her brothers back to her. For the first time since this whole disaster began Haley Collins felt hope that maybe she would at least get to bury her siblings.

They went back to the hotel room after the interview with Haley because Dean looked wrecked. "She was an emotional roller coaster man," Dean told him once he'd regained control of his emotions. "Normally people don't effect me that much but she was just kind of projecting her hurt. It was horrible." Dean shuddered and Sam patted his brother gently on the shoulder, knowing any further showing of sympathy would be rebuked.

"So how went the interview?" Balthazar asked suddenly and both boys swore at him. "What's wrong? Still not used to sudden appearances?"

"Fuck you," Dean snapped with no real heat.

"It's definitely a wendigo," Sam said, cutting in before Dean and Balthazar could start arguing.

He exchanged an exasperated glance with Michael when both Balthazar and Dean asked, "What?"

"Look at this," Sam said, pulling up Haley's video and slowing it down. "Look at the shadows in the background." They all watched for several moments as Sam looped the few seconds where the creature was visible on the back wall of Tommy Collins's tent.

"Shit," Dean said at last and Sam nodded, shuddering slightly. He'd only gone against two wendigos in his lifetime and neither event had gone well. The first one had been his first hunt and had almost gotten him killed. The second one had snatched him and strung him up by his ankles in an old warehouse. Those two alone were enough to make Sam eager to finish the hunt. "So what's the plan?" Dean asked after a moment. "Flare guns and hiking?"

"Sounds about right," Sam grumbled. "Tomorrow morning?"

"Tomorrow morning."

"Hello there Sammy," a voice crooned. Sam jolted up from the bed, gasping and soaked in sweat. His head snapped around and he froze at the sight of John standing there. He knew, without having to be told, that something was essentially wrong with the man.

"Christo," he hissed and the man chuckled.

"Oh Sammy, Sammy, Sammy," he crooned. "That kind of stuff doesn't work with me."

"Who are you?" Sam demanded nervously. "What do you want?"

"What I've always wanted," came the reply and Sam was stunned into silence by bile yellow eyes. "What is rightfully mine. You. You see, years ago precious Mary Campbell made a deal to save her beloved John Winchester's life but she violated the deal so I killed her. Unfortunate really because I rather liked her. There was only one problem though. You see, I hadn't counted on an archangel getting attached to her, attached enough to break God's mandate and have children. That threw a little wrench in my plans. Then you ran off. Little Sammy Winchester all grown up and wanting to leave the hunting world. The only problem then was precious little Jessica but she was easy enough to take care of, especially when you ran off with big brother for a hunt."

"You bastard," Sam snarled and the demon chuckled.

"Maybe I am a bastard," the demon said. "But you're mine Sammy, and your precious father cannot keep me away from what is mine."

Sam jolted awake with a startled cry, body shaking and shivering. "Sam, are you okay?" Michael's voice was steady and soothing on Sam's frayed nerves. The nightmare had left him feeling helpless and out of control and, worst of all, he wasn't so sure it hadn't been true.

"There was a demon," he managed to get out, whole body shivering, and that was enough to earn him the full attention of both angels in the room. "Wearing John."

"What color eyes?" Michael pressed, his eyes intense and searing into Sam's very soul.

"Bile yellow," he replied, shuddering again and then relaxing when he felt Michael's grace curling comfortingly around his own. "He said, well a lot of things really and I don't know how much of it is true, but he claimed he was the one who killed Mom and Jess."

"Azazel," Michael said with a sigh.

"Bless you," Dean commented from where he'd been listening silently in the next bed. Balthazar snorted at that and Michael rolled his eyes.

"Azazel is a fallen angel fully converted to demon after thousands of years of effort," Michael explained. "He is planning something involving Sam but I am not sure what. He is also the reason we haven't been able to find John."

"Azazel really is wearing him then," Sam whispered, horrified.

"Yes," Michael confirmed. "And he was the one who banished me back to Heaven."

"Son of a bitch," Dean muttered and Sam couldn't help but nod in agreement at that statement. "What are we going to do?"

"You two aren't going to do anything right now," Balthazar said firmly, exchanging an unreadable glance with Michael. "Besides hunt down that wendigo. Mikey and I have this thing handled."

"Right," Dean drawled skeptically but didn't press. "Ready to go Sammy?"

"In a minute," Sam said. "Besides, you have to actually get out of bed before we can leave."

"Find anything Sammy?" Dean yelled.

"No," Sam called back. "Haley was right though. Campsite is fucked to Hell."

"Damn," Dean muttered and peered around nervously. He didn't like wendigos. They were nasty buggers with all the cleverness of a human wrapped up in a flesh eating monster's skin.

"Dean?" Sam called. "You still there?"

"Yeah," he called back. "I'm still here Sammy."

"Well duh," Sam said from behind him and Dean spun around.

"What? But you were just-uh-how did you-?" Their eyes widened as the realization sunk in.

"Shit," they both chorused. That, of course, was the moment the wendigo dropped from the sky. Well, Dean knew it wasn't really the sky but it fucking felt like it. The wendigo pulled him away, Sam yelling after him, and Dean did the only thing he could think of, he flapped his left hand uselessly and then managed to tug out his bag of peanut m&ms, leaving a trail for his little brother to follow.

"Fucking wendigos," Sam growled as he scanned the surrounding area for any sign of where the monster had taken his brother. His eyes fell on the m&m on the ground and he couldn't help but grin. Slowly he began to follow the trail, keeping his senses open for any sign of danger. Rocks began to crop up the further Sam walked which meant the wendigo was probably hiding out in a cave. "Samuel," a voice droned behind him and Sam spun, wings flaring defensively. A figure stood on one of the boulders that was trying its hardest to uproot a massive tree. He was African-American with dark, angry eyes, and a shimmering silver blade was held loosely in one hand, almost casually as if it were something he handled every day. Sam could see wings rising out from his back, not visible so he couldn't tell what color they were, not at this distance.

"Who the Hell are you?" Sam demanded, narrowing his eyes at the angel. He didn't have time for this; his big brother was in trouble.

"It is none of your concern who I am abomination," the angel snarled. "Simply know I am here to destroy you."

"Then I'm pretty sure who you are is my concern," Sam retorted and then bit down a grin. Now was not the time to take Balthazar's advice and develop a less subtle sense of sarcasm. It was going to get him killed for sure.

Dean's head throbbed. He was hanging from the ceiling, his wrists tied by some kind of itchy vine. "Hey Dad," he mumbled, trying to clear his mind. "If you have a moment, I've kind of got a problem." No answer. Great. Just his luck. Dean tugged at the bindings and then yelped when they snapped, sending him crashing to the ground. "Well that's one problem fixed," he muttered. "Hopefully Sammy will get here soon with the flare guns so we can fix the other one." As if on cue he heard a low rumble as the wendigo approached to find its prey free. Dean hadn't been the only one hanging in the cave, he thought he saw both Tommy and Ben Collins along with another young man who was half eaten and no longer breathing, but the creature would definitely notice he was loose. "Damn it, damn it, damn it," he muttered as he backed away, hands searching vainly for a weapon he knew wasn't there. That was why it was a huge shock when something just flew into his palm.

The hilt smacked into Dean's palm almost painfully and he was startled by a sudden blaze of fire. Dean stared at the flaming sword. The wendigo stared at the flaming sword. Dean wasn't even entirely sure which one of them was more stunned. After a moment the wendigo seemed to decide that Dean had no clue what to do with a sword. He wasn't wrong but that didn't mean Dean couldn't stab the sword through the creature's chest when it lunged at him. Balthazar appeared in time to see it burst into flames as Dean pulled the sword free. The angel's eyebrows rose toward his hairline as the wendigo burned away into nothing. "Where'd you get that kid?" the angel asked and Dean shrugged.

"Hell if I know. You mind getting those two out of here while I go track down Sam?" Dean asked. Balthazar shrugged, heading over to Tommy, and Dean grinned. He took the sword with him as he stepped outside, following his own m&m trail. He didn't have to go far. He simply rounded and corner and then froze as he saw a strange angel with a sword backing Sam against a boulder. Sam's eyes were wide and he was weaponless, not that any of the weapons they'd brought would do anything other than annoy an angel. "Hey!" Dean yelled, hoping to distract the angel long enough for Sam to get out of the corner he'd been backed into. "Get the fuck away from my little brother!" The angel turned and then froze when his eyes landed on the sword in Dean's hand.

"Where did you get that monster?" the angel snarled and Dean shrugged because, honestly, he didn't have an answer. "I'll come for you another day," the angel hissed as Balthazar emerged from the cave, eyes narrowed. "Just you wait." Then the angel was gone.

"Can anyone tell me what is going on here?" Sam asked, voice shaking slightly.

"No time," Balthazar replied, voice grim. "Michael can explain everything when we're out of here and somewhere safe." Then he grabbed both of them before they could protest. Silver-blue wings closed around them and suddenly they were standing in the hotel room. One look at Balthazar's face and his wings, curled protectively around both boys as if they were still small children (and okay, they probably were by angel standards but still...), had Michael's own copper and orange and gold wings flaring wide. "Uriel showed up," Balthazar said, voice cold. "We need to get out of here."

"But what about the case?" Sam protested, trying to squirm free of the hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Already taken care of," Balthazar retorted. "Besides a wendigo isn't worth what will happen to you two if angels get ahold of you and drag you back to Heaven. Grab their things Michael we're going."

"But-" Dean tried to protest, attempting to shrug off the hand on his shoulder. Balthazar pinched down tight on his shoulder and judging by Sam's pained yelp his was doing the same to Dean's little brother.

"Listen to me very careful fledglings," the angel snarled, forcing them both down to their knees. Neither one fought, fear rushing through them. "You are both in way over your heads right now so you are both going to shut your traps and do what we tell you, got it?" Neither one answered, both trembling slightly, and Balthazar shook them gently, wings still curved protectively around them. "Got it?" he asked again.

"Got it," they both replied, exchanging uncertain glances. Something had happened on this hunt, something that had scared both angels. Sam and Dean really didn't want to find out what it was both. Both knew that sooner or later they wouldn't get a choice.

Chapter Text

Between the two of them, Michael and Balthazar had managed to keep Sam and Dean trapped in a hotel room five days going on six. Tempers were wearing thin, and Dean knew it was only a matter of time before Sam snapped and an argument broke out. That was why he was still buried under the covers trying to pretend he wasn't awake. Sam had been up since six in the morning, four hours ago, and had been growing increasingly restless as the hours drifted by. Dean finally gave a sigh and emerged from his shelter of covers in time for Sam to slam his book down. "I can't take it anymore," Sam muttered but it obviously wasn't meant for Dean's ears. The older boy headed for the shower while Sam paced, knowing there was nothing he could say to calm down his little brother.

To be honest, Dean was getting restless as well. Despite Balthazar's promise, neither he nor Michael had explained what was going on. Every time Sam or Dean asked they were brushed aside. The brothers knew the angels didn't mean anything but it but the rejection still stung and had done nothing but increase Sam's restlessness. Dean's brother needed a problem to work on, something to challenge him, and even more so now that Jess was gone. Sam wanted, desperately, to take revenge on Jess's killer as a way to take back the control that had been stolen from him. Dean wanted to demon gone just as badly. This was the monster that had murdered not only his mother but his little brother's precious girlfriend.

He hadn't really known Jess, but he had known her enough to like her. She'd enjoyed the same kind of music as him, managed to charm Michael, and actually managed to out snark Balthazar. She'd loved Sam wholeheartedly, Dean had known that the moment he'd walked into Sam and Jess's apartment with his Empathy active, and treated him like he was something both precious and powerful. She'd been an artist, and the work Dean had seen was phenomenal, as well as a cook and computer wiz. Furthermore, with her blonde hair and blue eyes she may have looked like an angel but she had a wicked sense of humor and Sam had informed him, on one occasion, that she had an aptitude for pranking people. She hadn't deserved to die the way she had.

When he emerged from the shower Dean felt his stomach drop to his feet. "Sam?" he asked, peering around the empty room and then almost jumped through the ceiling when his little brother let out a muffled groan. "Jesus Christ," he muttered, peering into the gap between beds to see Sam lying on the floor.

"Not Christ," Sam mumbled, clutching his head.

"Vision?"

"Vision," Sam confirmed, still grimacing in pain. Dean nodded silently and dug through the medicine part of one of their duffels to find the pain killers. Sam would need them after the vision was finished. After a couple moments Sam stopped twitching and wincing, sitting up slowly. Dean handed over the painkillers and opened a water bottle, handing that over next. Sam swallowed the pills and then drank, muttering a thank you.

"What did you see?" Dean asked.

"A girl," Sam said. "Peroxide blonde hair, brown eyes. She's scared, so very scared. Something's after her."

"After who?" Both boys jumped at the innocent question and Balthazar chuckled. "Hey Mikey, I think our jumpiness is beginning to rub off on them."

"Hmm?" the archangel asked, sounding not at all interested in what was going on. He was glancing out the window. Dean opened his mouth and Sam quickly clapped a hand over it.

"Never mind," Balthazar said with an eye roll.

"Are you two planning on letting us out of here anytime soon?" Sam asked, removing his hand from Dean's mouth and shooting his older brother a warning look. Dean arched his eyebrows in question but didn't ask why Sam wanted to keep his vision secret.

"Only when we can guarantee your safety," Michael said, his expression unyielding. "Right now Uriel has probably put you two at the top of Heaven's hit list and no matter what kind of wards we place around you they will find you."

"You can't just-"

"Sam," Michael growled and Dean felt his brother stiffen at the tone. It was the same sharp vocalization Balthazar had used when he'd snapped at both of them that they are way out of their depth. "We are not discussing this. Do you understand?"

"Yes," Sam replied sullenly, nodding once. Michael studied Sam for a moment and then vanished in a flutter of wings, Balthazar with him. "You know what I don't understand?" Sam asked, already reaching for his shoes. "How can they leave us here warded and expected the angels not to find us but we cannot leave the hotel even without them?"

"As if I know," Dean retorted. "Sam, what are you doing?"

"I'm going to save a girl. Are you coming?"

"No," Dean protested. "We can't leave. We've been told not to."

"There is a girl in danger."

"They could save her."

"They're too busy." Sam turned pleading eyes to his brother. "Dean, I need this."

"Fine," Dean said. "But don't expect me to cover for you."

"Thank you," Sam called, already darting out the door. Dean just shook his head as the door slammed behind his little brother.

She was sitting in a church. It was rather ironic, a demon sitting in a church. Her meatsuit was pretty, with peroxide blonde hair and a curvy figure. The suit's name was Meg Masters. The demon's name had been Astrid. Now she mostly stuck with the name of her current meatsuit. People were filtering in and out of the church, no one looking at her twice. The demon didn't glance at him twice either. She was waiting for someone and her father had reassured her that she would be able to feel him when he arrived. He wasn't wrong.

The doors to the church opened and she was smacked in the back of the head with a wave of power and absolute goodness. It was sickening. For a moment she wanted to cringe and snarl. Then she remembered that she was supposed to be a frightened, lost college girl. He sat down next to her, hesitantly, and she flinched with a little squeak. He started slightly and that made her want to grin and giggle like a punch drunk six year old girl. "I'm sorry," he apologized and she flashed him a nervous, tentative smile. "I'm Sam. Sam Winchester."

"Megan Masters," she told him. "Meg for short."

"Cute name," he told her and she flushed slightly, all for show.

"Thanks," she told him, fluttering her eyelashes. Lord did this girl have nice eyelashes. And wonderful curves too. The demon had picked a looker.

"Listen Meg," he said, seeming slightly uncertain now that he was speaking to her. "Is everything okay?"

"What do you mean?"

"You just, you seemed a little nervous when I sat down." Sam was flushing a shade of red that the real Meg Masters would have thought adorable if she wasn't screaming her metaphorical lungs off in the back of her own head.

"It's, uh," she pretended to stutter. "You're going to think I'm crazy."

"Nah," he reassured her.

"I keep feeling like someone's watching me," the demon told him. "It isn't always the same person but they always have black eyes and they always follow me home. One of them got close today and I felt nervous so I came in here. For some reason they never show up in churches."

"This may sound kind of weird," Sam said. "But would you like me to walk you home?"

"You would do that?" the demon asked, trying to hide a triumphant smirk. This was just too easy. "For me?"

"Sure," Sam said, standing and offering her his arm. She took it and hid her wicked grin by pretending to glance nervously over her shoulder. Sam Winchester, son of Michael, was hers.

"Dean, where is you brother?" Dean glanced up as calmly as possible when Michael and Balthazar appeared in the room. The television was on, blaring some cheesy daytime TV soap opera re-runs that he had long ago lost track of the plot on.

"Heck if I know?" he tried to reply flippantly but in truth he was worried.

"Dean." Michael's voice was a deadly warning and Dean felt himself flinch. "Where is your brother?" Honestly, that was a good question. Sam had gone out hours ago, when it was still light out, and the sun had long since set.

"I don't know, okay?" Dean snapped. "He had some vision about a girl and he wanted to get out of here-"

"And you let him?"

"Yes," Dean snapped back. "You've been keeping us locked in here like we're fine china or something. We're not going to break."

"If an angel gets ahold of one of you, you will."

"You can't know that," Dean protested, furious and hurt and scared.

"He has a point Michael," Balthazar said, his voice soft and serious. "You can't keep them both locked up because you're scared."

"I know," Michael admitted with a sigh. "And I'll deal with that later. For now, Sam is wandering around completely unprotected from both Heaven and Hell. We need to find him."

He opened his eyes to blackness. Sam's head ached and when he tried to lift a hand to his head he found he was tied to a chair. "Good morning Sammy," a voice cooed and he stared into the shadows, hoping to be able to see where the voice was coming from. "Say cheese." There was a brief flash of light, that didn't help him gain his night vision at all, and a click and then the sound of footsteps walking away.

"Wait," Sam called and the footsteps stopped.

"Yes?" came the wry question. It was a female voice and it sounded strangely familiar. He felt as if he should know who was speaking but his pounding head was making it hard to think.

"Who are you?" he demanded. "Where am I?"

"It doesn't matter who I am," the woman replied. "And as for who I am? Oh Sammy, you're just too easy to fool. You didn't really believe that was a real vision, did you?" Megan Masters. Sam felt his stomach churn. "Daddy told you we were coming for you." Then the demon walked off, leaving Sam alone in the dark.

It was Dean who found the demon. She was sitting on the church steps with black eyes and vicious smirk and she was waiting for them. "Where's my brother?" Dean demanded when he approached, furious and scared. The demon opened her mouth to answer at the exact moment the church bells tolled the midnight hour. She scowled up at the ancient belltower until the bells silenced.

"None of your concern," she informed him. "Either he wins and manages to get back to you or he loses and you never see him again."

"Answer me bitch," Dean growled and she looked personally offended.

"I just did asshole. Sammy's gone."

"Gone where?" Michael's voice was a cold demand from over Dean's shoulder. The demon turned to him and smirked.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"We'll bring her with us," Michael decided and Balthazar nodded. Dean should have felt at least somewhat soothed by that idea. They could at least get some information from her about where Sam was and what demons wanted with him. Instead he felt worried. The demon looked far too smug to be someone unwillingly captured by angels.

Sam was being moved. He didn't know why but he could feel the vehicle jolting underneath him. They had knocked him out again so he wasn't sure how long the vehicle had been moving or which direction they were headed. The little air slipping through the holes drilled in the top of the trunk was cold. He shivered and wished he'd grabbed a jacket before he left the hotel room. Better yet, he wished he'd never left the room. Hindsight was 20-20. The vehicle dropped quickly into a pothole and Sam's head banged hard on the floor of the trunk. Everything turned black.

Chapter Text

Sam woke up lying on top of a scratchy blanket on a hard wood floor with a blonde girl leaning over him. She jerked back the instant his eyes opened, turning to glance over her shoulder. "Jake, he's awake." A strongly built black man walked into view, glaring suspiciously down at Sam.

"Who are you?" he demanded, his voice like harsh gravel.

"Sam," Sam choked out in reply.

"Sam what?"

"I'm registered as Sam Winchester but the full truth is a bit more complicated. How'd I get here?"

"The demons dropped you off," the blonde said and the black man glared at her. "What? I think he's one of us. Ava did say she saw another one coming." The man sighed but relented. "I'm Lily Baker," the blonde continued. "This is Jake Talley. The demon brought us here too."

"Are there others?" Sam asked, sitting up slowly. "You mentioned someone named Ava."

"Ava Wilson," Lily said with a nod. "Then there's the twins, Andy and Ansem, and some guy named Max Miller. That's all of us."

"Us?"

"The demon's children," Lily told him. "The yellow-eyed demon's psychic kids. We're all that's left. The others have died." Her expression wavered, as if she was going to cry. "He makes us fight each other every night. He says in the end there can only be one left." Sam felt his expression twist in horror. "I don't know if he'll chose you to fight tonight," Lily continued, tears glittering in her eyes. "Sometimes he makes someone fight on their first day in and sometimes he doesn't. It depends on how much he likes you." Lily let out a miserable little sob and Sam reached out a hand, intending to comfort her. "Don't touch me," Lily shrieked, jerking away, and Sam froze.

"I'm sorry," he told her tentatively as Jake stepped protectively between Sam and Lily. Lily just shook her head and fled from the room.

The demon was smug; satisfied in her ability to keep anything she wanted from them. She hadn't spilled a single bit of information since this whole debacle began. Instead she simply lay there bleeding out on the floor. Michael had lapsed into furious silence. Balthazar looked as if he would have liked to turn the demon inside out. Dean, for his own part, was beginning to entertain ideas of manslaughter. Sammy was out there in danger, and yeah it was his own fucking fault but that didn't mean he wasn't going to worry about his little brother. His wings flared into view suddenly and the demon actually flinched, her eyes wide. "What the fuck?" she swore. Both Balthazar and Michael turned to see what had caused the demon's surprise. "What kind of abomination are you?" the demon demanded.

"A super special one," Dean sneered and the demon snorted.

"Yeah right. Sorry to disappoint you Deano but you're not the special one."

"Right," Dean drawled with a roll of his eyes. "Oh course I believe you. Demons are always so trustworthy."

"Fuck you," the demon sneered.

"Not interested," Dean shot back and the demon let out a frustrated shriek. Out of Dean's sight, both angels began to grin. It would seem like Dean might actually manage to succeed where they had failed.

Underneath the center of the old town was a fighting arena lined with flickering torches. A few Acheri demons hovered just above the ground, looking like innocent little girls. The seven of them stepped into the edge of the arena through one entrance. The yellow eyed demon wearing John Winchester stepped through the other. His bile colored eyes scanned the group and Sam resisted the urge to shiver and shrink into himself. He also fought the urge to flare his wings, hoping that the demons didn't know about that part of his heritage yet. "Max," the demon decided with a cruel lit to John's familiar voice. "And Lily." The two stepped forward.

Max was skinny and weedy with spiky brown hair and a sallow, pale face. On the other hand, Lily looked slim and strong and dangerous as she slipped her hands from her hoodie pockets and circled around to stand in front of the yellow eyed demon. "Any time you're ready," the bastard drawled. Max's whole body stiffened in concentration. Lily's eyes did not waver as they fixed on her opponent. Then Max lifted a hand and Lily went flying. She slammed hard into one of the packed dirt walls with a muffled shriek that was half anger and half panic. Max stepped forward, outstretched arm shaking. Lily squirmed against the wall, her entire body restless. Max let out a wet sounding snarl, spit flying, and Sam found himself unable to stop watching as Max took another step forward, within arm's reach of the blonde.

Lily ripped her arm free of Max's control and reached out to brush her hand across his cheek. Max jerked back like he'd be struck, choking and dropping to his knees. Lily dropped so her feet touched the floor and she kept her eyes fixed on the convulsing figure. Max let out one more strangled cry and then fell still. Sam knew, without checking, that Max was dead. Lily let out a little sob as the demon clapped his hands slowly. "Very good," he purred. "Very well done Lily." The blonde bowed slightly to the demon and stepped back to join them, hands tucked in her pockets. "Get some rest kiddos. You'll have to be ready for tomorrow night's match." Then he clapped his hands once and the Acheri were surrounding them, grabbing them and pulling them away from the arena.

"So where's my brother?" Dean demanded, his focus fully on the demon. He would be able to tell if the demon was lying. He would be able to feel it.

"Wouldn't you like to know?"

"Come on sweetheart," Dean taunted. "I thought we were getting friendly here."

"Yeah right," the demon drawled. "You're adorable."

"I know," Dean replied immediately which earned him a snort.

"You know what?" the demon asked. "For that I'll actually tell you something. Not quite what you want to know but I'll give you a hint. It's been abandoned for years." Dean tilted his head, considering, and the demon actually giggled. "You look like a lost little bird like that," she cooed and Dean rolled his eyes.

Sam woke up feeling chilled to the bone. He shivered underneath the shelter of the scratchy blanket Jake had tossed at him when they'd stumbled into the dilapidated building, blinking blearily at the sunlight streaming dimly through the cracked window. His breath formed little clouds of fog in front of him. Across the room he could silly Lily curled up in a ball with Jake lying protectively between her and the others. There were two young men, obviously the twins with brown hair and green eyes. The last was a light brunette girl who was sleepily on her stomach with one hand outstretched as if she were reaching for something.

Sam shivered again, almost violently, as the sun sank lower in the sky. It dawned on him that it was December and although there was no snow where ever the hell it was he was trapped at, mother nature had at least decided to make the temperature fitting for the season. Lily mumbled something sleepily and one of the twins shifted restlessly, face twisted into a sneer. Jake's eyes were suddenly open and they met Sam's across the room. The Nephilim offered the black man a respectful nod which was returned. Neither of them made any effort to move. The sun vanished abruptly from any sort of view, plunging the room into blackness. The brunette girl let out a startled yelp, jolting upright, which roused the rest.

As if waiting for the very moment when they were all awake, the Acheri entered the room. Blankets were dropped as they were snatched and returned to the same arena as the night before. The yellow eyed man was waiting. His eyes scanned the group again and Sam felt cold hatred hit him in the gut. "Andy," the man decided and the softer looking twin stepped forward. "And Jake." Sam didn't know what Jake's gift was but he had the feeling the sturdy looking black man would snap the weedy formed Andy in half. Andy looked like he was thinking the exact same thing. They circled warily, Andy's eyes suddenly narrowing in concentration. Jake jerked, making an aborted snatching motion as if he were trying to grab something that had darted by him. Andy's power had something to do with mind control then.

Jake growled, eyes darting around and body shifting like he was trying to fight more than one foe. Andy had stopped moving, sweat dripping down his face and body trembling. That was his mistake. Jake had probably locked on the one thing that wasn't moving around him. He snatched Andy before the weedy young man could move, snapping his neck. Andy fell to the ground, limp and lifeless, while the others watched. "Take that thing away," the demon sneered, motioning at Andy's body. "We're going to have another match tonight and I don't want someone falling over that bit of trash." Then he looked over the line again as Jake rejoined them. "How about Ava and Lily." Both girls hesitated a moment and she clapped his hands. "Get a move on ladies. We don't have all night."

"So your little hint narrowed it down to a few hundred placed in a few countries," Dean informed the demon.

"You didn't think it would be easy, did you?" the demon retorted with a roll of her eyes. "Honestly kid, if you did then you're stupider than I thought."

"Thanks ever so much," Dean drawled.

"You're welcome Dean sweetie," the demon cooed and he sighed, exasperated and worn thin.

"At least tell me your name," he informed her. "It isn't fair that you know my name and I don't know yours."

"Just call me Meg," she said dismissively with as much as a shrug as she could manage. "The pious bitch is long gone anyway and I don't particularly like my old name."

"Whatever," Dean sighed and she smirked tiredly at him. They were both getting worn thin by this. Dean just wasn't as confidant as Balthazar and Michael that she was going to break first."

Ava had killed Lily. She'd taken control of one of the Acheri demons and had it rip the blonde apart until they were all spattered with crimson blood and chunks of flesh. Just the thought, and the knowledge that the mess lingered on his skin and clothes because it was far too cold to risk spraying the rusty water from the well near one of the rickety buildings in town. Instead they huddled under blankets as the sun rose. Only Ansem and Ava slept. Jake and Sam both lay there, shivering and haunted by what they'd seen and done. Sam had killed before, and he knew he would have to kill soon to survive because Azazel wouldn't just let him hang around on the sidelines forever. He just had never killed as bloodily as what Ava had done to Lily. The blonde's screams still echoed in her ears because the Acheri hadn't started with something that would kill her immediately. Slowly exhausted took hold and, despite the chill and the churning of his stomach, he drifted off to sleep.

Meg did break first, but only barely. "Fine," she told him, looking a strange mixture of tired and bored. "I'll tell you what you want to know, but on two conditions."

"What are they?" Dean demanded desperately. Sam had been gone by days now and he was haunted by the feeling that they were running out of time.

"First you let me wander off in this meatsuit once I'm done," Meg told him. "And two, you kill Daddy?" When Dean arched his eyebrows questioningly at her, she rolled her eyes. "Yellow eyes?"

"Deal," Dean told her and she studied him for a moment, eyes narrowed, before nodding.

"Fine. Baby brother is at Cold Oak, South Dakota." She was telling the truth. Dean could feel none of the tell-tale smugness she let off every time she lied.

"If you're lying to me I'll hunt you down and end you myself," he threatened anyway as he untied her and freed her from the devil's trap. Meg just laughed.

Chapter Text

"Sam, wake up." Sam jolted awake and lashed out, causing Jake Talley to sway back out of his reach. "Listen, we need to get out of here," the black man said. "Before that bastard kills any more of us."

"You couldn't have thought of that before Lily died?" Sam demanded in a harsh whisper, his tone cold.

"I tried with Lily," Jake retorted. "But she wouldn't come. She said she'd accidentally killed her girlfriend with her touch and there wasn't anything left for her out there." Sam winced at that and mouthed an apology. "Are you coming?"

"Hell yes," Sam muttered, squirming out from under the scratchy blanket. Jake nodded and stood, turning his attention toward the Acheri.

"We're going to clean the blood off of us," the black man said and one of the demons inclined its head slightly, stepping aside to allow Sam and Jake out of the building and into the freezing wind. The instant they reached the alley where the spigot was tucked into, Jake grabbed his arm and dragged Sam down it. Sam wasn't exactly small, a good two or three inches taller than the black man, but Jake was supernaturally strong. "We need to move fast," Jake told him. "Tara and Keith tried this a month and a half ago and the Acheri tore them apart."

They sprinted towards the edge of town, feet flying across the hard packed dirt. Sam could practically feel the Acheri demons flowing after them. They were never going to make it. "Keep going?" Sam panted out. "Or stop?" Jake glanced at him and then over his shoulder before scowling.

"Stop," he rumbled. "We'll see how many we can take down before they get us?"

"Deal," Sam decided, jerking to a halt next to Jake and letting his wings out to play. The Acheri jerked to a stop at the sudden appearance of those appendages and Sam decided he had never seen so many evil little girls looked so puzzled.

"If you have those can't you just fly us away?" Jake growled as the first couple Acheri lunged at them.

"They're all pre-flight feathers," Sam snapped back as he backed away from another Acheri. "The Vaned feathers necessary for flight haven't grown in yet." He thrust a hand out in a childish attempt to keep the Acheri away. It had a moment to scoff at him before it was suddenly dissolving into black smoking and flowing down into the ground. Jake, Sam, and the remaining Acheri all gaped at the spot the currently banished Acheri had been. That was when the clapping started. Azazel was standing there smirking and that, more than anything else, kept Sam from protesting as the Acheri moved forward to drag them away.

Cold Oak was what looked like an abandoned mining town except for the demonic activity Dean could actually see. Dark trails of energy dripped all across the the empty city like some kind of sick looking confetti. That was definitely new, although Dean wasn't sure if that was a new power or simply the result of all the protections Azazel had placed on the area. He didn't bother to ask. There were more important things to worry about. A black cloud of smoke flowed forward and then formed into an Acheri demon, hissing at them. Michael smote it with a casual touch, stalking toward the center of town. Dean followed, wings twitching nervously where they settled fully visible against his back. Balthazar walked two steps behind him, silent and deadly.

They paused in the middle of town and Michael's eyes closed. He was still as a statue, not even shifting as icy wind washed over them, focusing on something beyond his body. "They're below the town," he said at last. "But I'm not sure how. It doesn't make sense."

"Because everything else in our lives does," Dean muttered, kicking the ground in irritation. Balthazar placed a calming hand against his shoulder, squeezing it lightly, and he stilled.

"We'll just fly down," the other angel said. "It doesn't matter how they got down there as long as we can reach there too."

"There is no warding against us," Michael replied. "But Azazel is aware that I at least am around. Either he doesn't expect us to find him in time to stop him or he's waiting for us."

"Regardless we don't have time to waste. We either go now or give up," Balthazar retorted.

"Giving up isn't an option," Michael and Dean chorused. Balthazar rolled his eyes at that.

"Of course that isn't an option," he drawled. "Now can we get moving before something comes along to destroy us all?"

Jake and Ava fought first. It was short and brutal and bloody and Jake came out on top by ripping Ava's arms off. As it happened, Ava had to use arm motions to summon the demons. She couldn't do it without the motions. Jake snapped her neck after that, short and simple. Sam and Ansem went next. Ansem's power was all mental but Sam could feel it dripping over him like dirty sewer water. He shrugged it off and Ansem growled, lashing out. Luckily Sam had almost a foot and several pounds so deflecting his attacks was simply. Sam snapped his neck, wincing at harsh crack that echoed through the silent arena. Azazel grinned.

"So just you two left," the demon purred. "Just as I guessed. Well," he cocked his head slightly. "On with it boys." Sam turned tired eyes to Jake. The black man looked resigned by all this, and unhappy. Sam decided that now would be a really nice time to get a sword of his own. He almost did. Instead of his own sword he got Dean, Balthazar, and Michael. Azazel scowled and Jake let out a little, surprised yelping noise. Sam reached out to grab the black man's arm in order to keep him in place.

"It's ok," he hissed as Michael lunged at Azazel. "They're my family." Jake arched his eyebrows.

"You have an odd family."

"Tell me about it," Sam muttered. "You might want to cover your eyes."

"Wha-Ah!" Jake yelped as a suddenly flare of bright light. Azazel had never stood a chance, not really. Sam had to wonder, by the resigned look on his face before he'd been eliminated, if the demon happened to know exactly what had been coming for him and already given in. John's body slumped, still and lifeless, to the ground. Sam and Dean had learned a long time ago that the archangel was simply too powerful to not accidentally kill the body when he destroyed the demon. John's soul was already heading for Heaven or Hell and there was nothing Sam or Dean could do about it. Sam felt a vague flash of melancholy but nothing more. John had been a caretaker but not Sam's father and certainly not a real source of affection.

Michael crossed the room in an instant, pulling Sam over and checking him for injuries. "I'm fine, I'm fine," Sam rushed to reassure his father, letting relief wash over him.

"Good," the archangel growled lowly. "If you would have been hurt-"

"But I'm not," Sam protested, cutting Michael off. "And Jake here needs someone to get him back to where he's supposed to be."

"Afghanistan," Jake spoke up warily. "I was on duty there when I got pulled into whatever this mess is. They've probably labeled me a deserter."

"He's a good guy," Sam added when his father glanced at him. "We've just been doing what we need to in order to survive."

"I'll get it all cleared up," Balthazar said, reaching out a hand toward Jake. "You take care of your boys." Then he and Jake Talley were gone.

The thing stares at him. It looks like Dean but he knows better. The body language is just a bit off, the expression too gleeful. It's talking but he can't hear a single word past the buzzing in his ears and the dark laughter that's starting. The thing doesn't seem to notice. The laughter grows louder and blackness swirls across his vision, shadows and coldness. Then there's a Hispanic woman with black eyes saying, "Azazel had a plan to raise an army. All those demons waiting for a gate to open and it never will. They're angry Sam. And they won't stop for anything in order to take revenge on Azazel's remaining tainted children. Watch your back." Then she was dissolving into laughter and the darkness was back.

Sam woke up to his phone buzzing next to his head. He fumbled for a moment at the table between the two beds he and Dean were currently occupying before coming up with his phone. They ended up in a hotel a state away and Sam had fallen asleep to Michael watching over both of them. He was sure at some point in time Balthazar had returned but right now the room was silent except for Dean's deep breathing and the insistent buzzing of Sam's cell. He flipped it open and slurred, "Yeah?"

"Sam?" The shock of healing Luis's voice after a month of being away from Stanford was enough to jolt Sam fully awake.

"Luis? What's wrong?" he asked.

"It's Zach," his friend informed him. "He and Becky were watching their parents house. She just called to say that the police arrested Zach for murdering his girlfriend. She said they have footage of Zach being at Emily's house but Becky swears Zach was with her the entire time."

"Thanks for the message," Sam said. "Can you call Becky and let her know Dean and I will stop by?"

"Sure thing man," Luis replied. "I'll let you get back to sleep now." Sam chuckled as Luis hung up.

"What was that?" Dean slurred from the other bed.

"A possible case," Sam said, spilling out everything Luis had just told him. "What do you think?"

"I think we're going to visit your friends," Dean said. "But not until it's actually morning." Sam snorted but didn't argue as he burrowed back down under his blankets to get another couple hours of sleep.