Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural. I own this fanfic, though, and I know none of this will ever ever ever happen in the show, because the writers NEVER read fanfiction or anything...

A/N: Wow. This is the first legit, multi-chapter monster I've attempted since Stargate Atlantis (and if anyone knows how that went, I'm going to try not to repeat old mistakes). I'm going to try to remain as canon as I possibly can and finish it before season 5 pretty much debunks everything I've written. Sorry if the start with Jimmy is a bit slow, but Jimmy'll be getting a lot of love in this story. And, eventually, the humor will come in. Just doesn't seem appropriate at the moment.

Special Thanks to Merisha, for beta-ing for me (and writing some spectacular whump.) and Kenkaoru307 for totally surprising me with her preliminary read-throughs. And to those friends and manager I sent it to who were gonna get around to reading it before I put it up.

Chapter 1:

"Oh my God."

The frantic, breathless exclamation was the first thing to pierce the deep haze that clouded Jimmy Novack's mind. It was followed by two more such exclamations, the voice growing increasingly high-pitched with each repetition. Jimmy wanted to ask what was wrong, he even turned his head and opened his mouth, but all that came out was a throaty groan.

"Oh. H-hey, are you okay?"

A hand came down on his shoulder, giving him a little shake. The gentle movement jarred the prone man, sending pain flaring all over. It felt as though every bone had come loose and rattled everything else in his body. Jimmy stiffened and hissed, his eyes cracking open. A face floated above him, wide, bloodshot eyes looking him over, parted lips pulled into a grimace.

Dimly, he recalled that there was someone very important to him, someone who might look at him with such worry and concern... No, this wasn't that person. The man's face wasn't even close to hers.

Her? Whoever she was, it was almost at the front of his mind. God, he loved her. Loved them. Who were they?

"Listen I, um... here, let's get you up."

The owner of the voice hooked one arm under Jimmy's shoulder and heaved him upward. Bones creaked as his muscles strained and hot fires blossomed all over his body. It was all he could do not to cry out as the man hoisted him to his feet and eased him into a cushioned chair.

"Nng," he grunted, shifting in his seat.

"Geez, I-I'm sorry. Uh, how 'bout some water. You want some water?"

Numbly, Jimmy nodded. As the man left his field of vision, he was able to examine the room he was in. Well, he assumed it was a room, somewhere underneath the train wreck. Cabinets, dishes, bits of plaster... it seemed that anything that hadn't been secured firmly had been shaken loose from its place. Jimmy sat in the only upright chair, seated at a table that had definitely seen better days. It was like an earthquake had hit. Unfortunately, he knew better.

The man returned, a chipped coffee mug in one hand. Water splashed over the rim as the man set it down on the table. His hands were trembling. He was frightened. Blearily, Jimmy glanced down at his own hands and saw that they, too, were trembling. But he wasn't scared. Not at the moment, anyway.

"So, uh... Jimmy, right?" the man said, interrupting the train of thought. "You're Jimmy Novack?"

"Yes." Jimmy frowned, glancing around the kitchen, almost expecting to see someone else with them. But no. They were alone.

He was alone. Jimmy took a deep breath, glancing down at his hands again. His hands, no one else's. He flexes his right one, then his left. Entirely himself. All alone once again. Castiel was gone.

A giddy, lightheaded feeling swept over him and Jimmy's eyes widened as he glanced around the damaged kitchen again, drinking it in as though it was the Louvre. He was seeing this with his own eyes, in real time, no longer catching snatches through the bright, insane intensity of an angel's mind. He could count the seconds on the clock, hear the drip of the leaky faucet, all the while knowing that he would still be lucid enough in the next minute or so to catch the next second, the next telltale plip!

"Heh." The nervous laugh escaped, unbidden but not entirely unwelcome. "I'm me again. Castiel, he's... he's gone."

Once the words left his mouth, Jimmy immediately sobered. The last time Cas had left, it hadn't been good. Judging from the look on the man's face, he knew it, too.

"Well... any clue where he went?"

Jimmy frowned, awkwardly dredging up the disjointed memories. He remembered the sensations. Being thrown against the wall, struggling vainly as other forces -stronger, more numerous, distinctly inhuman forces- fought with him, trying to find out... something. The flash of light, like the last time Castiel had been taken from his body, but this one was different. It was more violent and vicious. The angels hadn't simply wanted to return Cas to heaven. They'd wanted him to hurt as they pulled him from Jimmy's body. Jimmy grimaced and shook his head.

"No. I mean, there was this bright light and, I dunno. I guess it was pain, but I wasn't the one feeling it."

"Castiel was," the man filled in.

It made sense. All at once, Jimmy became sharply aware that this man knew an awful lot more than the average guy would have. Which either meant he was a very good guy, or a very bad guy. Jimmy deeply and sincerely hoped it was the former. He'd had enough of angels and demons and all things supernatural to last him an eternity, but he'd pick the angels over the other things any day of the week. Even if they were heartless bastards.

"I'm sorry, um..." Jimmy squinted, carefully forming his words in his head. "As ridiculous as this sounds... I don't-I don't even know your name. I mean, you seem to be a bit more in the loop than I am right now, so... mind filling me in?"

The man blinked at him before understanding lit up in his eyes.

"Oh, right," he breathed. "Yeah, sorry. I'm Chuck, prophet of the Lord and... stuff. And frankly, I don't know how much I can fill you in. Every time Cas get himself dragged back to heaven, my prophetizing tends to space out for a few days."

Jimmy's brows raised and he looked the man over. Haggard, tired, dressed to remain indoors all day, a scruffy beard and anxious, tapping fingers. Well, the Lord worked in mysterious ways, or he would if Jimmy was sure the Lord was responsible for any of this anymore.

"You're a prophet," he stated.

Chuck nodded.

"And you-you don't know what's... happening?"

"I was just making a phone call after I finished writing about the freakin' apocalypse happening," Chuck nodded to the other half of the table, where a lone laptop sat; perhaps the only thing in the kitchen that remained untouched. "Suddenly Castiel and Dean show up, demanding to know where Sam went. I told them, and Castiel sent Dean there and he stayed to fight off the archangel, who seemed pretty pissed that Cas was here at all and... and then this!" he gestured at the kitchen, as though it needed any attention drawn to its state.

Jimmy shook his head and shut his eyes. He was still somewhat hazy, but something didn't add up.

"Why would an archangel be after Cas?" he asked, rubbing his temple.

"Because he was trying to stop the apocalypse," Chuck hissed anxiously, eyes darting to the broken window and back. "Geez... you really don't know much, do you?"

"No, I don't!" Jimmy snapped. "So please clarify. Of course Cas was trying to stop the apocalypse. That was the whole point!"

Chuck's face, already worn, grew suddenly more grim. Swallowing, he gave his head a little shake, averting his eyes.

"Not exactly," the prophet muttered. "The higher ups, well, they never wanted to stop it. In fact, some of the things they pushed the WInchesters into doing... They were trying to speed it along. Castiel came in on it late, and next thing you know he gets dragged to heaven the first time. And that was just for trying to warn them. Heaven only knows how deep he's in it now that he's actively tried to disobey orders."

Jimmy took a deep breath and licked his chapped lips, trying to sort all that out in his head. It had been one thing to find out that angels were neither sweet nor cuddly. Loyal, yes. Brave, well, they would be if they were accustomed to fear. But this... this was beyond disheartening. It was almost beyond his ability to believe that those magnificent bastards would be so selfish. A part of him was almost proud to have been a vessel for the one angel with a goddamed heart. Possibly literally goddamed, now that he'd disobeyed.

He glanced up, unable to process much more at the moment. He could sort out the implications later.

"Sam and Dean," Jimmy pressed. "They managed to stop it, right?"

Chuck shrugged helplessly.

"I really don't know. I mean, for all intents and purposes, they weren't supposed to. I had no idea Dean and Cas would show up like that. If everything went according to their plan, Sam would sorta accidentally break the last seal, and all hell would literally break loose."

For the first time, Jimmy almost missed being the vessel. Chained to a comet, so overwhelmed by Castiel's spirit that he didn't have time to sort out anything going on in the real world. Almost missed it. But only almost.

"And here I was hoping that the next time I came to, all this crap would be over. Hell, maybe we'd even have rocket cars by then."

"Hate to burst your bubble," Chuck chuckled nervously. "But it's only been, like, a week."

A week? Jimmy sighed. God, it had felt like so much longer. Time passed differently when you lost your ability to perceive it.

"Here, drink that," Chuck urged, nodding toward the mug. "You look like you're about to pass out."

Jimmy glanced back down at the chipped mug and, suddenly, his tongue was sandpaper against the roof of his mouth. Wearily, he took a deep drink, quietly reveling in the cool liquid soaking his tongue, running down his throat, soothing his parched mouth. He should have laid down some ground rules before he took Castiel back last time. Told him to eat every once in a while, drink a bottle of water a day. Just because the body would be fine didn't mean it was comfortable.

Before Jimmy knew it, the mug was empty, and he wanted more. Worse than that, his stomach growled loudly. Lord above have mercy, he was starving.

"I think I have some leftover Chinese in the fridge," Chuck offered. Jimmy nodded a silent thanks before lurching to his feet, determined to fill the mug again. After several mugfulls, he turned back to the table, feeling sluggish and tired but undeniably famished at the sight of cold, slightly stale sweet-and-sour chicken. Ambrosia.

o-o-o

Dean had always known to do one thing in life, and that was to look after his brother. So when he'd seen that vortex open, that light pour out, it was his natural reaction to grab Sammy and hit the road before Lucifer saw fit to kick off the apocalypse with a little Barbequed Winchester. What he hadn't expected was Sam's hand gripping him in turn, his wide eyes staring at the light that poured forth from the void in... what? Awe? Fear? Shock?

"He's coming," Sam whispered hoarsely.

Yeah, no dip, Sherlock. But for all Dean's desire to get the hell out of there, he couldn't help stilling at the sight. He had never really bothered brushing up on his Bible beyond what was and wasn't a Seal, but he did remember one thing from all those hours spent researching. 'Lucifer' meant 'Light' or something along those lines, and boy was it ever true. The abandoned convent, once dark and dismal, brightened visibly with the presence of the fallen angel, and for a moment he couldn't remember why he'd wanted so badly to stop the light from coming into the world. It was warm, and bright, and so undeniably beautiful. It didn't even hurt to look straight into it.

Something clicked in the back of his brain. It didn't hurt now, but Lucifer had once been an angel. And angels had a nasty tendency to burn a person's eyes out if they so much as took a peek. Tearing his mind away from the all-encompassing light, he searched desperately for the door. It was so hard to see anything with all the damned -and he literally meant DAMNED- light, but they had to go now!

"Sam, let's go!" he cried, yanking at his brother's jacket. Sam stumbled, but allowed himself to be dragged across the room, his large fists clenching his older brother tightly. And that was what it always came down to, wasn't it? It had gotten confusing with the angels and the demon blood and the seals and the apocalypse, but that natural instinct kicked in and he looked after Sam, dammit, and Sam followed his big brother.

Hands outstretched, Dean crashed into the wall, scrambling to find the exit. His head was beginning to throb. Anxiously, he shut his eyes, feeling and feeling until, suddenly, his hand met the open air of the exit.

"Come on!" he yelled, and took off down the hall. Sam faltered, but caught up. They hadn't released their grips on one another, though they now had something else to cling to. Run! It was the Winchester way, what they did. They hunted evil sons of bitches, and when that didn't work, they ran for their godforsaken lives.

At the end of the hall, Sam snapped out of his stupor and led the way to the entrance of the convent, dragging Dean behind him. When, at last they reached the dim light of night, Dean blinked and slowed to a jog. The world looked so normal out here. The stars were out. The moon was rising. The breeze was blowing, the grass whistling. Didn't the world get the memo? The apocalypse was happening!

His eyes adjusted after a few seconds and he caught sight of the orange car parked just outside the gates. Without a word, he ran toward the door, hand held up to catch the keys that Sam threw to him, already in the seat and flipping the ignition before he knew what had happened.

Tires squealed, gravel crunched, a dust cloud billowing behind them as they got the hell out of there. Out of Ilchester. Out of Maryland.

Can't this car drive any faster? He thought desperately, eyes flicking constantly to the rear view mirror. There seemed to be an occasional flicker of light through the boarded up windows, but no grand explosion, no mighty burst of ex-angelic power. Whatever the devil was, he was subtle about it.

An hour later, they were out of Ilchester, and Dean felt his shoulders stoop. He was alive. Sam was alive. That was a small victory in and of itself, and yet he couldn't bring himself to look at his silent brother. Not now. Not when he knew exactly what Sam would see in his eyes.

You happy now you selfish son of a bitch? You did things your way and you got your very own apocalypse! Great job, Sam, Mom and Dad would be so freaking proud!

In an apple pie, white picket fence kind of world, he would be grateful. They would look beyond their differences and just be happy that they were alive. He really, really wished he could do that. But he could still feel those fingers around his neck, see the look on his kid brother's face when he walked out that door, trusting a demon over his own kin. It didn't matter how sincerely Sam apologized. Some things were going to take a long time to heal.

"Stop up here," Sam said hoarsely.

Dean glanced sharply at his brother, then at the hardware store he referred to.

"Sam, this isn't exactly the time to-"

"I need to do this, Dean." Sam turned, not looking at Dean. Damn. The kid's eyes were red, and more than a few tears had escaped since their flight had begun. He clearly wasn't in his right mind at the moment.

"Next store we see," Dean promised. "We need more distance between us and..."

And the biggest mistake of our sorry lives.

Sam didn't nod or protest or, really, even react. He turned back to the window and slumped in his seat, staring numbly at the world that raced past them. Dean swallowed and gunned the accelerator, and whaddaya know, this piece-of-crap car had a little more juice in her yet.

o-o-o

Thanks for reading!

I won't preach about the fanfiction sins of not reviewing, since everyone does these days. I'll just put Sammy here, and see if you can resist his puppy-dog eyes begging you to review.

Sam: I... I am so tortured and must angst. Please review.