Author's Note: So here's one of the new stories I was working on during the hiatus! If you haven't noticed, I'm really into Supernatural crossovers, and I've had this idea bumping around for awhile.

If you've read anything else by me, then you know that I can't promise you a consistent update schedule. Hell, I can't even promise that I won't up and delete this story. But I'm going to try.

Please leave a review with your thoughts!

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In Dick Roman's final moments (the Leviathan replacement, not the real businessman), Sam Winchester faces an impossible, split-second decision that could potentially change the entire course of history.

Of course, Sam doesn't yet realize this, and he might not ever, but that doesn't make it less life-altering.

Dean's already plunging the bone-of-the-righteous-mortal-bathed-in-the-three-hardest-to-fucking-find-bloods into Dick's throat, and the monster releases a sick, gurgled laugh even with black blood dripping from his nose and neck.

It is then that Sam isn't so much offered his choice as he is slammed with it, something dark stirring in him that says bad things will happen if he doesn't go to Dean right now.

Dick's mouth opens wide like a shark's, rows of teeth whirring and tongues whipping through the air. He closes it again, that same filthy smirk on his face. The air pulsates in a staccato heartbeat and Sam looks desperately from the prophet to his brother, at a loss.

He can't leave Kevin. They promised Ms. Tran that they'd protect him after dragging him into all this mess, and he's really just a civilian, prophet or not. He won't be safe if Sam lets him on his own.

But Sam's a Winchester at the end of it all, and Winchesters look out for family first. Dean's blood, and Cas is as good as. He doesn't think for more than half a second before he's shoving the hilt of Ruby's knife into Kevin's shaking hands and racing the twenty feet to his brother.

He gets there just in time for Dick to explode into black slime and for the room to be enveloped in light.

The bone clatters to the ground and then the three of them, Sam and Dean and Cas, are all gone, and Kevin's standing there with Sam's knife in his hands and the surviving Leviathan wandering the lab halls behind him.

Kevin scrabbles for the bone, wincing as his fingers drag through the dark smear that used to be Dick Roman. He tucks Sam's demon-killing knife into his belt and tries his best to breathe, but he can hear the Chompers in the back talking, confused and disorganized without their leader but still freaking lethal.

From behind him, a voice, smooth like silk.

"Well, we've hit a bit of a snag, haven't we?"

"Crowley."

"Right as always, darling. You are in Advanced Placement, after all."

"Where are they." He does his best to sound more confident than he is, but it's hard to cheat the King of Hell.

"Who? Oh, you mean the Winchesters." Crowley says the word 'Winchester' like a swear, something foul and crass. "Not to worry. They're not your problem anymore. The thing about God weapons, well, they've got a bit of a kick. Should put a warning on the box, really."

He snaps his fingers and two of his demon cronies come and grab Kevin by the arms. He tries to pull away, fighting and shouting because he can't afford to be timid with Sam and Dean gone to who-knows-where. No matter how hard he struggles, they're too strong for him and eventually he's forced to stand still, his chest heaving.

"I'm sorry, dearest. Them's the breaks." He smiles nastily. "A prophet for a profit."

Crowley snaps his fingers again and Kevin's head swims, vision blurring out as they're teleported to what is likely Crowley's lair.

Oh, Kevin thinks from a faraway place in his mind, eyes shut tight like if he closes them firmly enough he'll turn invisible. Oh, God.

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Castiel has fallen before.

He has dropped into oblivion and sunk down into the dirt. Once is more than enough; he knows the feeling well enough to hate it.

Falling feels like punishment for past mistakes and smells like burning feathers.

This isn't falling.

This is floating.

Everything is dark. It should be oppressive, but it's instead oddly peaceful. His worries for the safety of Heaven and Earth, the fate of the Winchesters and the prophet, all drift away in the blackness, seeming suddenly childishly insignificant in the face of such calm.

Time passes slowly, if at all. It comforts him. Heaven never had any use for time either, preferring to measure everything in matters of Before and After. Before the son of God, and After. Before Lucifer and After.

Before the death of Dick Roman and After.

For the first time in a long while (he does not know how long, nor does he particularly care), Castiel feels like an angel again.

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Dean Winchester knows what it's like to die.

He really shouldn't, but he does. Dean knows very well the consequences of carelessness, of helping people. Of saving people and saving his baby brother.

The point is, he knows how it feels to have his heart stop beating and feel the slow sensation of air leaving his lungs. And it doesn't feel even a little bit like this, whatever this is.

It's fucking dark. Pure blackness, so impossibly void of light that Dean can't see his own hand when it's mere centimeters from his face. It's unsettling and makes him feel sick to his stomach.

Being a hunter, you learn to fear the dark real frickin' fast once you figure out what kind of crap lives there. All kinds of nasties like the dark, like to lurk in crevices and cracks for their unsuspecting prey. Once you've seen a few people get taken by a wendigo or a skinwalker, you start being nervous around forests at night and you avoid dimly lit alleyways even more than before.

Everything is a threat to a hunter.

And here Dean is, vulnerable and unseeing, with no way of knowing if Sam, Cas, and Kevin are all right. He tries to cry out, but his mouth won't work. His jaw is locked shut like he's got tetanus, unable to call for backup or even just to see if his friends made it out of the Levi nest alive.

He's permanently on edge, waiting for something, anything, to jump out at him from the inky black and end him all over again. He waits for the inevitable scrape of claws against his face and for the tearing of teeth through his throat.

He waits.

It doesn't come.

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Sam hates the dark.

Something about not being able to see makes him think about a place he really can't think about, about angry shadows cast on walls and slow, devious smirks. Sometimes he thinks he can still feel the phantom sensation of Lucifer's hands rooting around in his chest, digging out what displeased him (be it his heart, lungs, kidneys...) and never, ever letting Sam die.

The dark gives him time to think and to remember.

And he doesn't much want to do either.

The downside of being smart is having your thoughts go a mile a minute, and it's made worse by the sense of timelessness surrounding him. Nothing changes but his mindset. Through it all, everything is constant in the dark.

He has all the time in the world to think on his guilt.

He'd left Kevin behind without a second thought. He's just a kid, fresh out of college and torn from his normal life. Sam can relate. He knows the helplessness, the fear, and if he'd been thinking clearly he wouldn't have left him without guidance.

And now, Crowley probably has him, or the Leviathan ate him, or-

And he didn't even save Dean.

Sam didn't succeed at his original goal, which was to protect Dean and Cas, and ended up hurting Kevin (maybe killing Kevin) in the process.

Do not harbor guilt for the prophet, Sam Winchester, says the voice of Chuck Shurley in the back of Sam's mind. Maybe it's God guiding him. More likely it's his own delirium. All will be revealed in time. The Winchester Gospel has not come to a close just yet.

A low chuckle in the dark, then nothing.

It is silent from then on, even Sam's rampaging thoughts gone quiet.

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