Two year had passed since Dean had seen his brother, two years since Sam had called him with the revelation that he was Lucifer's intended vessel. Two years since Dean had told his brother they shouldn't be together anymore.

Now, all Dean ever wanted was to have Sam at his side because after their final conversation, everything had gone to Hell in a hand basket so fast it made the hunter's head spin.

At first it seemed as though every demon and their cousin were coming out of the woodwork but then people started showing signs of the Croatoan virus and within months everything had been turned upside down.

There just were not enough hunters to exorcise the amount of demons appearing and once those infected with the Croatoan virus began to murder their family, friends and neighbours, panic spread like wildfire.

Dean recalled the weeks before the television and Internet stopped working, sitting in Bobby's den, staring in shock at the carnage on the screen: men, women and children being slaughtered in the street, the President asking for aid from other countries facing the same crisis, bombs dropping on civilian centers in a futile attempt to cut the infection down before it could spread further.

Dean had never felt so powerless in his life. There was nothing he could do to stop the dying.

Or, there was, a path he was not going to take. He knew he did have one option: agree to become Michael's meat suit so the archangel could kill his brother and destroy what was left of the world.

For two years Dean had been plagued with dreams in which the angel showed him all the people who were suffering and told Dean how they could all be saved if only he allowed himself to be a vessel.

But Dean had hardened himself to the archangel's words and although he hated the fact that there were still people out there who were hurting, dying, he tried his best to save those he could and became the reluctant leader of a group of refugees living at the long-deserted Camp Chitaqua.

For two years Dean had kept his eyes keen and one ear to the ground for any indication of Sam's whereabouts, hoping each time he left the protection of the camp that he'd find his brother.

The others, though, seemed to have lost hope that the younger Winchester would be found alive- or worse in control of his own body- and constantly tried to convince Dean to give up his futile search.

Only Bobby had believed in Sam as much as Dean did but the grizzled hunter was gone now and the eldest Winchester was alone in his determination.

"I'm not giving up on him!" Dean shouted at Cas as the angel suggested for the nth time that Sam- or the Sam as they knew him- was gone.

The two old friends were standing in the young man's cabin, the angel having followed the human inside, sensing Dean's impending departure.

"Dean," the angel tried, looking as tired as the hunter felt, "I understand Sam is your brother and that you feel guilty about what transpired during your last conversation, but-"

The man shook his head, "He's out there, somewhere, Cas. I know he is."

"Dean," the angel argued, "Don't you think it would be wiser to take care of those who are depending on you here?"

"But what about Sam?" the hunter growled angrily, "He's always depended on me! Ever since he was a baby! What if he's hurt? Don't you think he'd find us if he could?"

Castiel said nothing, only looked sadly at Dean. He seemed to know what the human had in mind because his next words were spoken without even having to ask the question.

"You will have to go alone," the angel said, "These people need to be protected."

Dean nodded grimly, "I wouldn't ask you to come with me."

Castiel inclined his head.

The hunter said nothing else. Not wanting to waste anymore time, he grabbed his duffel bag from underneath his bed and took out his gun and a box of bullets.

This moment had been a long time coming and nothing was going to stop Dean, not even Castiel.

"Is that all you are bringing with you?" the angel asked and Dean nodded.

"Either I find Sam and we both come back," he told his friend, "Or I won't come back at all."

The angel closed his eyes for a moment, "The others are not going to understand."

Dean looked sharply at Cas, "They're not going to know about this."

"Dean-" the angel began but he was interrupted, "He's my brother, Cas. I have to find him. I have to make sure he's okay."

Having said enough, the hunter put the gun and box of bullets into his jacket pockets and left the cabin. Glancing around the campground, Dean saw that he was alone for the moment and hoped to keep it that way; he didn't want to have to answer any awkward questions. Striding across the grass, Dean made his way to the dirt track that served as the road to and from the camp.

"Hey Dean!"

The hunter didn't stop as he heard Chuck Shurley heading right towards him, clipboard in hand and a concerned expression on his face.

"Dean, wait up!"

The hunter slowed his pace somewhat but continued on, "What Chuck?"

"We're overdue for a supply run," the prophet told him, "We're low on toilet paper, canned vegetables and-"

"Let Cas know," Dean told the smaller man.

Chuck stopped walking and stared at him as though he had just grown a second head.

"Are you leaving?"

Dean slowed to a stop and stood with his back facing Chuck, clenching his jaw tightly.

"Cas will take care of it," he told the prophet, "I have something I have to do."

"You're going to look for Sam," it wasn't a question and Dean nodded, "Don't try and stop me."

"But Dean… you can't!" Chuck exclaimed and the hunter turned on him.

"You know where he is, Chuck? You know if Sam's alright or not? Tell me! C'mon, tell me!" Dean growled at the man and the prophet took a step back.

"You know I don't," he said quietly, "Ever since… all this happened, I haven't seen anything."

Dean nodded; he'd expected that answer. He'd hounded Chuck ever since the prophet had joined their small community to tell him about Sam only to be told the same thing, Chuck couldn't see into the Winchesters' future anymore.

"I feel like I abandoned him, Chuck," Dean told his friend quietly, "And I can't take it. I have to find him."

The prophet nodded, knowing that when Dean had an idea in his head, nothing could distract him.

Sighing, Dean laid a hand on Chuck's shoulder, "Don't say anything to the others, okay? Cas will look after everyone."

The other man's eyes went wide, "But, what should I say? They're going to want to know where you are!"

The hunter smiled and turned around, began walking towards the exit again, "You're a writer, Chuck. I'm sure you'll think of something."

Dean's shoulders relaxed as he passed beneath the shade of the old oak trees that lined the dirt road that ran to the campground, an ancient wooden sign, weathered into unintelligibility announced the Camp Chitaqua entrance, lay to one side, forgotten in a clump of dandelion and Queen Anne's lace.

W

Dean had no idea where to begin his search for his brother. Not worrying about it too much, the hunter simply let his feet lead him where they wanted, feeling in his heart that he would find Sam, as though there was an invisible string that connected him with his sibling.

Dean remained on the roads less travelled, away from the highways; sleeping in a convenient copse of trees or even in a drainage ditch running alongside the grey asphalt ribbons when he had to. He stayed away from the larger cities when he could, going around them if it was possible or moving through them by night when it was not.

Dean knew that the cover of darkness did as little to deter demons or those infected with Croatoan as the noontide sun did but it made him feel better to move about the city streets when the sun went down.

He tried not to think about the people he'd left behind at Camp Chitaqua, knowing that Cas and Chuck would look after them, keep them safe.

As Dean walked he couldn't help but think about all the people had had lost: his Mom, Dad, Bobby, even Ellen and Jo who had been ambushed by a group of demons as they were making their way to the refugee camp, and prayed that Sam wouldn't be another name to add to the list.

W

Dean barely looked at the demons eyeing him warily as he approached the old factory. The hunter knew they wouldn't attack him, not with an archangel on his shoulder.

The hunter didn't even know how long he had been walking for; weeks it seemed, when he had seen the derelict building rising out of the ruins of some city or another, its pale grey concrete walls coated in graffiti and he knew- he just knew- that this was had been his destination all along.

Dean's heart began to pound in his chest as he pushed open the scratched, dented front door and stepped into the darkened building.

The hunter's boots crunched on bits of debris and broken glass as he moved forward, billows of dust rising up from his footsteps.

A pigeon burst out from some hidden roost in amongst the skeletons of factory machinery and startled Dean as it flew towards the escape of a glassless window.

As the hunter's gaze left the bird, it fell on a metal door at the far end of the room with a smeary staircase sign screwed into the wall above it.

Dean's feet slid across the gritty factory floor and he began walking towards the door, his heart aching in his chest.

Reaching the door, the young man raised his hand and wrapped his hand around the burnished metal handle, pulling it as hard as he could. The door opened easily and, peering down, Dean saw scuff marks in the dusty floor, indicating that someone had gone through the doorway recently.

Stepping into the stairwell, Dean let the door slam behind him. Allowing his eyes to adjust to the dim light, the hunter saw that the dust had been wiped away on the stairs leading deeper into the factory.

"Sammy," Dean breathed his brother's name, not knowing what he would find once he reached the lower levels, if Sam would even be there, but it was too late to go back; he would not go back without knowing what had happened to his brother.

Carefully, though not bothering to use the handrail, the hunter descended the staircase. He paused at the next level before continuing downward, following the trail left for him.

Heading down another two levels, Dean saw that the staircase had ended; he was at the basement. Peering through the chicken wire-reinforced window in the door, Dean could see that the room beyond was lit intermittingly with fluorescent light bars, most of which were burnt out or broken.

Pushing on the door, Dean was surprised when it opened, just as the one on the ground floor had and he entered. Cardboard boxes stacked on wooden pallets and wrapped in plastic towered around the room, casting long shadows.

For a moment Dean though he had made a mistake and that he was alone before he heard footsteps approaching. A woman, who looked to be in her late twenties stepped out from behind a stack of boxes. She had long, wavy black hair, and dark brown eyes. She wore black stiletto heels, dark-wash skinny jeans, a tight fitting, violet crop top and a black pleather jacket.

"Dean Winchester," she said in a husky voice, one hand resting on her hip, "Better late than never."

"Meg?" he asked and the woman smiled widely, her eyes turning pitch black.

"I'm impressed," she praised, "Got it right on the first try."

Dean's fists clenched automatically.

"Now I doubt you've come all this way just to see me," Meg said and Dean nodded.

"Do you know where Sam is?"

The demon's lips curved even more, "Maybe."

Dean opened his mouth to snap at the demon- he wasn't in the mood for games- when a second set of footsteps caught his attention.

Sammy? The hunter thought and looked up expectantly, and his mouth dropped open in shock.

The man making his way towards them didn't look as though he should be alive. He was completely bald and his face was covered in burns, his lips were pulled back from his teeth to make his smile even more sardonic. Blue eyes burned out at them from bruised sockets. The long-sleeved shirt he wore was stained with sweat around the collar and armpits.

"Welcome," the man greeted in a surprisingly strong voice, soft, though unwavering.

Dean's heart caught in his chest and it took a moment before he could force his tongue from the roof of his mouth enough to speak.

"Lucifer," Dean snarled, "Tell me where Sam is!"

As the hunter watched, the fallen angel's lips thinned even more over his yellow teeth, turning them into fangs.

Dean knew that if anyone would know his brother's whereabouts, it would be the creature standing before him. He recalled Sam's long ago phone call and revelation that Lucifer had found him while he'd been asleep, invading his dreams. If the fallen angel could do that then, than Dean was certain he could do so now.

What Lucifer said next shocked Dean, "Of course, he's right here."

The Devil gestured with one shriveled, sore-covered hand to a path made by two towers of boxes.

Dean was somewhat taken aback that Lucifer didn't seem the least bit concerned that he was there. What if he was harboring Michael, waiting for the right moment to strike?

As though he had read the hunter's thoughts, the fallen angel spoke, "Do not insult my intelligence, Dean."

"Where's my brother?" the hunter growled.

Lucifer turned his back and walked between the two stacks of cardboard boxes.

Somewhat reluctantly, Dean followed the fallen angel, Meg bringing up the rear.

The trio walked past towers of boxes almost tall enough to touch the ceiling, a tunnel of cardboard and plastic; Dean quickly becoming claustrophobic.

Looking up, the hunter realized that Lucifer had stopped; they had reached the end of the basement. A grey cinderblock wall rose up before him, a fly-spotted fluorescent bar flickering down on the figure beneath it.

The fallen angel stepped to one side to give Dean a better view of the person sitting against the wall and the hunter felt his heart stop in his chest.

"Sammy!"

His sibling sat with his back against the cinderblock wall, his legs splayed out before him, his arms raised above his head, shackles clasped tightly around his wrists. The younger Winchester's chin rested against his chest, his dark brown hair long and greasy, obscuring his face. Sam was dressed only in jeans, the denim stained with dirt Dean didn't even want to think about. The younger man was so thin his brother could count his ribs; his bare skin caked in grime and covered in sores.

"Sammy," Dean said once again, his heart breaking for his sibling.

Lucifer and his minions must have finally caught up with Sam, tired of playing the nice guy, the fallen angel decided to get his hands dirty to get what he wanted.

"What did you do to him?" Dean asked, glaring daggers at the fallen angel, wishing looks could kill.

"Your brother proved to be most reluctant to fulfill his role as my vessel," Lucifer explained magnanimously, "And my patience only stretches so far, you see. I decided to take a more direct approach with Sam."

From over his shoulder, Dean heard Meg snicker.

Ignoring both the angel and the demon, the hunter stepped forward and knelt down beside his brother.

"S-Sammy?" Dean whispered, tears stinging his eyes, "Can you hear me? It's me, Dean."

"He does not even know you are here," Lucifer told Dean and the hunter ground his teeth, hands forming into fists.

He knew there was no way he could kill the fallen angel and the best he could hope for was to temporarily exorcise Meg- if he was lucky- but Dean was not going to leave without his brother.

He had to do something- anything- to save Sam.

Tearing his gaze away from his brother, Dean narrowed his eyes up at the fallen angel.

"If you're so hot to have a vessel," Dean began, "And one that has good mileage, then… take me. I'll be your vessel."

The hunter tried not to smile at the look of surprise that crossed Lucifer's face at his words.

"You?" the Devil asked, "You'd agree to become my vessel? What about Michael?"

"Michael can go screw himself," Dean said, "He's done nothing for me. I don't owe him anything."

The fallen angel didn't speak for a long moment so Dean did.

"But I want your word that you'll let Sam go," he demanded, "I'll be your meat suit, I won't even complain, but you have to promise me that Sam goes free. No demons or Croats touch him."

"Father-" Meg began but Lucifer held up a withered hand, clearly thinking hard about Dean's offer.

"You would really sacrifice yourself for your brother?" he asked Dean and the hunter nodded.

"As long as you let Sam go," he repeated.

The hunter watched as Lucifer glanced down at Sam for a long moment, a strangely sentimental expression on his face before he returned his gaze to Dean, his blue eyes sparkling with a life that hadn't been there before.

"Of course I agree to your terms, Dean Winchester," Lucifer smiled.

Dean returned the expression, grimly, and stood up. He half expected Michael to come blazing down upon them to stop this but the only sounds Dean heard were Sam's ragged breathing.

"Yes," Dean said in clipped tones, "Yes, I'll be your meat suit."

You son of a bitch, Dean thought seconds before he felt as though all the nerves in his body were on fire and he was suddenly paralyzed.

Eyes forced open wide, the hunter watched as Lucifer's vessel lit up with white light from inside and its skin began to burn, turn to ash as the fallen angel vacated it.

Searing pain scorched through Dean's rigid body and he imagined himself burning from the inside out, unable to see, to feel, to think about anything but the agony that made his nerves as raw as shards of glass…

…And then it was over.

Dean slumped over and blinked, raised a hand to his face and wiped at his streaming eyes.

He could move! He still had control of his body.

But not for long, he knew. Lucifer, bastard that he was, apparently was feeling gracious enough to allow Dean a few more moments with his brother.

Ignoring Meg, who was squealing like a girl at a Justin Timberlake concert; Dean dropped to his knees beside his brother and gripped the shackle trapping Sam's right hand.

Using his new-acquired strength, Dean broke the metal shackle open as though it was made of paper, lowering Sam's arm to his lap before it could fall. Opening the second shackle the same way as the first, Dean reached out and placed a hand on his brother's head.

"Sammy," he murmured, tears in his eyes, "Sammy, it's me, Dean. I don't know if you can hear me but I just want you to know that I love you… Sammy…"

Dean could already feel Lucifer stirring from within him and knew his time was rapidly running out.

"Sammy," he whispered and slowly, painfully, the younger Winchester lifted his head.

Dean stared into his brother's face; Sam's hollow cheeks, sunken eyes, unshaven chin and felt his heart break.

"You're free, Sammy," Dean told his brother as darkness began to crowd in on his vision and he forced himself to speak once more before he couldn't anymore, "You're free."

Author's Note:

Fanfic name is a play on the short story, 'The Devil and Daniel Webster' by Stephen Vincent Benet and 1941 film of the same name.

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