12:57 am March 16, 2020. Life has taken a strange turn, hasn't it? I'm in the US and COVID-19 madness is reaching a fever pitch (no pun intended). I expect my city will be shut down within the next week or so. As someone who is getting her Ph.D. in virology from a prestigious institution in five days (AHHHH!), I understand the threat of this virus and respect its destructive power. I'm immunocompromised myself so I have to be careful.

But at the same time, goddamit, because due to this virus, my parents are no longer coming out to see my thesis defense and the defense is being limited to 10 attendees, including myself and my six-person thesis advisory committee. What should be a celebration of six years of tedious work will now likely be reduced to my fiance and I mixing some drinks at home. I know it could be worse, and I have to be grateful for what I have, but I'm still pretty upset about it. So I'm gonna be selfish and say that any support you'd like to offer, if you'd like to share anything you've enjoyed about this story, it would mean a lot to me.

The only thing making me happy is that I got three baby chicks four days ago and I named them Sam, Dean, and Cas. Sam and Dean are different breeds but their plumage currently looks very similar, so I thought it was fitting. It's my first time raising chickens but dear Chuck are the chicks adorable. Highly recommend.

As for the story, penultimate chapter here. When I first started writing this story, I thought I would eventually merge back with canon. But the ideas in my head are taking me far off the rails and at this point, I'm just like fuck it, we're gonna follow the muse. This is probably one of my favorite chapters and I really hope you enjoy it too.

Thanks to Souless666, Isdugat, and YellowEyedSam for your responses/reviews!

Alright, enough of my blabber.

It looked like a bomb had gone off. He was standing in the middle of a crater, the ground below him pulverized and scarred. He could see fires raging over the edge, the dark clouds of billowing smoke rising into the sky beyond his view. He jogged to one of the sloping crater walls and began to climb. The earth was brittle and sharp and tiny daggers of glass were chewing through his flesh. When he looked down, he seemed to be making progress, but when he looked up, he was no closer to the top. He ignored the spatial dissonance and kept going, but his hand landed on a loose piece of rock and he lost his grip. He slid down to the bottom, his knees and forearms bearing the brunt of the damage.

He sighed in frustration and began climbing again, only to repeat his previous failure. Again and again he tried, exhaustion quickly making his brain slow and body unresponsive. Water, God he wanted, needed, water so bad. His tongue felt like it was going to crumble into gravel inside his mouth. Maybe he could just close his eyes for a bit and he'd feel better when he woke up...

"I honestly thought it would take longer for you to give up," a familiar voice called out and shocked him into open-eyed awareness. He twisted his body and saw what had to be his worst nightmare at the center of the crater.

Lucifer, wearing Sam, stood gazing at him, that pristine white suit untouched by the surrounding destruction, a taunting half-smile lilting on his face.

"I'm not giving up, just resting," he choked out, his throat savagely dry.

"Mm-hmm." An arched eyebrow communicated the angel's doubt. "Regardless, it doesn't matter. He's already said 'yes', so there's nothing for you to find. It all belongs to me now."

Horror swept through him. "No! Missouri said—"

"What would some backwater psychic know about celestial majesty?" Lucifer took a few steps towards him and he found he couldn't move, though he wasn't sure if was due to physical weakness or archangel powers. "Did you think Sam could hold out that long?" Closer now, he could see the gleam of suit buttons in the ominous ambient light. "You really thought he was that strong?" The devil's boots stopped inches from his face, a tiny cloud of dust and ash obscuring his vision momentarily. A hand closed around his throat and lifted him up to Lucifer's gaze. He feared the alien consciousness staring out of such familiar eyes. "Contrary to popular belief, I don't lie. So I won't say that I didn't enjoy breaking your little brother, because I absolutely did. He was a worthy opponent. But now he's mine, and together, nothing will stand in our way."

The pressure around his throat intensified and he struggled to breathe. "Please, don't!" he sputtered.

Lucifer just smiled deprecatingly. "You knew it would always come down to this. I win, so I win."

The snap of his own neck startled him awake and Dean realized one of Missouri's heavy quilts was bunched around his neck, constricting his breathing. He scrabbled to get the thing off and took a deep breath. He checked his hands and saw no further injuries than those he had self-inflicted two nights prior. He looked around for Sam and his panic began anew when he couldn't find his little brother.

"Dean! We're downstairs!" Missouri called and he sighed with relief. Between his nightmares and reality, he was gonna give himself a heart attack.

Dean found Missouri, Bobby, and Sam in the dining room. The table had been moved to another room and Sam was laying on the hardwood floor which had been decorated with a chalk devil's trap. His body was splayed out like the Vitruvian man and he was dressed only in loose-fitting sweatpants. Missouri was on her knees and seemed to be painting his skin with a clear liquid. Bobby was crushing something with a mortar and pestle.

"What's going on?" Dean asked, startled by all the activity.

"Preparing the ritual, what does it look like?" Missouri replied, only a little bit of sass coming through. "We gotta prepare both him and you, so I thought I'd get started."

Dean studied Sam a little more closely. A pile of pink salt was on his forehead, chest, in his palms, and by his heels. "Is he awake?"

Bobby shook his head. "We thought it best to put him under since we're not sure what will happen."

Dean nodded and accepted this silently. "Do I need to strip down too?"

Missouri gave him a pointed look. "What do you think?"

Dean put his hands up in surrender. "Just askin'..."

He took off his shirt and socks and stood anxiously waiting for Missouri's direction but she was focused on painting Sam's face with the anisette before pouring some into his hair.

"Where do you want me?" he asked quietly once she set the bottle down.

"Lay in the circle like him, with your right hand under his left hand. Once we start, you'll have to be very still so you don't disturb the alignments or the protection wards."

"Got it," he confirmed as he laid on the floor and slid his hand under Sam's. He was concerned with how cold Sam felt but hoped it was just due to the lack of clothing.

"Alright, let me explain what I think will happen. What you dreamed about isn't how it's going to be, alright?" Missouri soothed. She started painting any exposed skin with anise.

"Wait, what'd you dream about?" Bobby asked suspiciously.

Dean swallowed uncomfortably, tilting his head up to look at Bobby, even though his perspective was upside down. "Lucifer. In Sam... I was too late."

Missouri snapped her fingers to get Dean's attention. "Put it out of your mind. That won't happen. But it doesn't mean this is gonna be easy, either. From what I can tell, his mind will likely try to reject you. It's been under a lot of assaults lately and probably won't enjoy someone else snooping around in there. But you can't give up. Only God knows what'll be thrown at you, but you have to keep going. He's in there somewhere, I know it. You can do this, Dean. Try to focus on positive memories and feelings that will connect you to him and draw him out.

"Okay, okay, I think I can do that. Last night, you said I could get hurt. Where would the injuries come from?"

Missouri anointed him with anisette. "A couple of ways. If any attack occurs and his mind is strong enough, it can manifest the damage on your physical body. His trauma could also wound your psyche." She placed the wand of Tibetan quartz on his forehead with black tourmaline on each side. "That's why we're gonna do our best to ward you. Bobby also called your friend Lindsey for some additional spells. You'll be as protected as you can be."

"I guess that's reassuring..."

She ignored him as she chanted in a language he didn't recognize. "We will be connected too so you can talk to me. Now I'll need you all to be quiet, and to try to quiet your thoughts as much as possible. Bobby?"

"Right here," he responded and held out the mortar. She took the bowl and sprinkled the crushed herbs around both Sam and Dean's bodies. She took thin wisps of cedar bark and tied bracelets around the brothers' wrists and ankles while rhythmically humming. She then murmured a chant over the rosemary and broke individual leaves to spread the oil across each crystal. She arranged a ring of stones around his head, alternating the smoky quartz, pyrite, lapis, black onyx, and fire agate. "Close your eyes," she gently commanded and Dean obeyed. She laid opals over his eyes and shungite in his left palm. In Sam's left palm, which was over Dean's right, she placed the apophyllite prism and azurite, reading off a Latin spell. She adorned Sam's forehead with several gleaming rounds of labradorite. Between their heads she laid down four pieces of black tourmaline, each crystal separated by a blue egg. The whole thing took about 45 minutes and Dean was going out of his mind trying to stay still.

"The protection is in place," Missouri said quietly as she knelt by his head. "Dean, I'm going to connect your mind to his, your soul to his. I will be able to pull you out as long as we stay in contact. Otherwise, it's up to you to find Sam or for him to kick you out. Good luck."

She placed her fingers over his temples and leaned over him and whispered "Adiunge illa unum Psyches faciam. Faciam ut cum animas. Aperi cor tuum, et illud dicere verum." She flung holy water mixed with gold dust over their bodies before loudly proclaiming "intrabit!" as she clapped her hands.

Dean felt as though he was on a tilt-a-whirl for a few moments before landing on a hard, unforgiving surface. He opened his eyes to black nothingness. He could vaguely see his own body if he concentrated but nothing else. No light, no definition. No clues to help him find Sam. Just nothingness.

Actually, it was worse than that. As he started moving, an odd sensation crept over him and he focused on identifying it. It felt like something pulling him from all directions, as if it were draining him. He kept walking, trying to figure out what he was experiencing. Abruptly he realized the nothingness was actually a vacuum, a complete absence of anything, and it was demanding to be filled. With him.

"Missouri?" Dean called uncertainly, unsure if their connection would work.

"I'm here, Dean."

"There's something pulling me, like it wants something from me." There was a long beat of silence. "Missouri? Any help?"

"There's something we need to tell you, Dean."

"What is it?" He sure didn't like the tone of her voice.

"Bobby discovered something about Sam's warding... There's something within him that is drawing his will away, weakening his ability to fight. It may be trying to draw yours, too. From what Bobby could decipher, it was put in place to keep away Lucifer but wouldn't last forever."

"What happens when the warding fails?"

"We're not sure, but probably nothing good. But most important is to not let it distract you. You need to find Sam."

"Right. Okay." Dean looked around but saw literally nothing, nothing which could give him a clue as to how to get to Sam. "Sam!" he shouted, hoping something would happen. But again, nothing.

He began walking again, calling a few times a minute. Time seemed to pass painfully slow. The darkness felt like it was closing in on him, trying to squelch his progress.

"Missouri? What should I do? I'm not getting any response."

"Keep trying, he's in there somewhere. Keep looking," Missouri said clearly.

"Sam? Sammy?" Dean called out again and again, desperate to escape the suffocating claustrophobia.

He kept moving, determined to get some sort of result. He alternated calling for Sam and checking in with Missouri. He noticed with agitation that the psychic's voice was getting fainter and fainter. But hopefully that meant he was getting closer to Sam. Eventually he called for Missouri and got no response. He huffed with frustration but decided to keep going.

Then paralysis seized him and movement ceased entirely.

"Leave. Now." The voice sounded like Sam, but something was off about it. It lacked... life.

He was held in a state of suspended animation for some time before he felt his throat and face loosen. "Sam?! Is that you?"

"There's no one here by that name anymore."

"What do you mean?"

The darkness started to melt away around him, like ink washing off a piece of paper, flowing slowly to a place in front of him. Grey fog was left in its wake, still leaving Dean adrift in a formless sea. The blurred shape of a body materialized, its wavering edges flickering like tiny flames.

"That which you seek no longer survives. There is no more Sam."

Dean deflected the knives of pain scraping along his heart. Missouri had warned him this would happen. Whether it was something evil within Sam or just some part of Sam trying to protect himself, it would likely try to crush Dean's hope and push him to leave. He gathered himself and said evenly "If there's no more Sam, then who are you?"

The sticky blackness began to shift again, slipping up the body to reveal familiar boots, well-worn jeans, a shirt Dean hadn't seen in far too long. The darkness coalesced around Sam's face, pooling and concentrating into where his eyes should be. A healthy-looking Sam, a version of his little brother he hadn't seen in over eight months, maybe even longer if he counted pre-demon blood, stood before him, every detail exact except the cavernous voids staring back at him. Dean struggled to hide his flinch.

"I am the Freak. I am what remains when you strip away everything from a cursed soul and leave only the power behind."

Dean was silent for a few seconds as he figured out how to approach the situation. "Do you remember being Sam? Or being a part of him, at least?"

A cruel smirk twisted Freak-Sam's face and his gaze went to his feet. "What I remember is growing up surrounded by people who never accepted me, never believed me, never believed in me. I remember the breakout of the visions and how it had to be kept a secret, like I was some vile thing the world should never know about." He lifted his head, though his eyes were still tucked down. "The only time I ever felt useful, felt vindicated, was when I was pulling demons. But even that was sullied; I was just a pawn in a much larger game, my suffering and my abilities be damned." He looked up, black eyes gouging deep holes in his face. "And, of course I remember being crushed under the weight of monstrous guilt and locked up with wicked chains, forged in no small part by you!" He jabbed an angry finger towards Dean's face and took a step forward. "Oh, it was killing him to keep me bound, but he did it regardless, did it for you. And you threw him out anyway!" he roared, wispy black streaks spreading from his eyes across his skin like poisoned veins. "And now look at us!" he yelled, spittle flying from his lips. "This is all your fault!"

A fist swung up and caught Dean off guard. He fell backwards and broke his descent with his hands and his wrists made their displeasure known in no uncertain terms.

Sam practically pounced on him and pinned his arms with his legs. He brought his face down to hover inches above Dean's. The older brother noticed with disconcerting clarity that the impenetrable darkness of Sam's eyes seemed to be absorbing the light around him. "You ruin everything you touch," Sam hissed before pulling away and swinging another punch into Dean's face. "Sam could have been happy, but you had to come steal him away from his dream, all because daddy was being mean to you and wasn't keeping you up to speed with his obsession for Yellow Eyes. You ever think about that Dean?" Another punch cracked across Dean's other cheek. "If you had been a good little soldier and kept your shit together, none of this would have happened! Sam would have been there to protect Jess. The shining star of his life, snuffed out because poor Dean was scared and all alone. Azazel needed Sam's anger and vengeance for his plan to work – without it, the Apocalypse would never have come to fruition!"

A solid punch landed square on Dean's nose and he felt the fragile tissue shatter. He could feel the blood dripping down the back of his throat. Despite himself, he forced his vocal words to obey his mental commands. "That's not true. Azazel woulda gotten Sam one way or another."

Freak-Sam paused his assault as he considered this briefly. "I don't think so. Maybe he still would have murdered Jess, but you were the one who dragged Sam back into hunting. Had he lost Jess on his own, his world would have just collapsed. He'd be like he is now."

"What is he now?" Dean asked quickly before the barrage of fists began again.

A bitter laugh rasped out of Sam's throat and Dean would praise whatever gods necessary to never hear that sound again. "Despondent, lost, useless. Right now, he's literally a tool. Stripped of all the things that made him human – his intelligence, his empathy, his rage, his dignity, his hopes – all that's left is suffering and obedience. He's the perfect silent victim, available for anyone to use and abuse."

"What do you mean?" Dean whispered, horror squeezing every nerve.

The depraved smile that spread on Freak-Sam's lips chilled Dean to the bone. "The things they've done to him… Oh, even with your years in Hell, you aren't able to even imagine what he's been through. You know, you should be happy the mute is on the outside, because the other one would never stop crying." Sam landed a fierce punch to Dean's jaw and Dean felt his brain rattle inside his skull.

"Wait, what other one?" Dean cried, flinging it out like a prayer. The other one – the real Sam?

Freak-Sam halted his fist and then cursed viciously, several sounds seeming eerily familiar to words he remembered demons speaking in Hell. "Fuck!" he yelled as he grabbed Dean's hair and slammed his head against the ground. Bright lights flashed through Dean's vision but when it cleared, Sam was just staring at him. He hung his head and sighed. The gesture was so Sam-like and it struck Dean so deeply that he had to remind himself to breathe. "I guess there's just enough of him left that my tongue is still loose. Whatever. It's not like he has much time left." Sam rose and stood over Dean.

Dean pushed himself up. "Help me find him," he implored.

"No fucking way," Freak-Sam spat. "It'll be better for all of us if he's gone."

Dean grabbed his leg and pulled pathetically. "Please, you know that's not true, you're a part of him, and he's a part of you. Please, please help me."

The thing claiming to be a piece of his brother stared at him for a long time, so long Dean thought maybe he'd somehow frozen. The black eyes reflected the slowly swirling fog surrounding them. Eventually he huffed out another sigh and looked away. "There's a chance that if his soul is extinguished, I'll lose my power. And I'll have Lucifer to deal with. So, I won't help you, but I won't stop you, either. Go."

Dean stood up and nodded solemnly. "Thank you. You have any idea where he might be?"

"Anywhere but here," Freak-Sam responded then melted into an opaque inkiness that filtered back into the fog, returning him to pitch blackness.

"Great," Dean groaned. "You were loads of help!" Dean yelled at the nothingness before quickly doing an inventory of his injuries. Nothing seemed too bad, but he definitely wasn't comfortable. Broken nose, lots of bruises, maybe a concussion. He sighed and started walking, not knowing what else to do but continue searching. He wandered through the darkness for what felt like hours, continually calling for his brother. There wasn't any indication he was getting closer and despair was beginning to set in.

He remembered Missouri's advice to think about happy memories and feelings. He thought of when he had cut those chicken nuggets for Sammy and the pure joy on the kid's face. He thought of how Sam liked to fill plastic cups with wildflowers and weeds to make a bouquet, 'just in case mommy ever comes back.' Sammy petting a dog for the first time, riding on a carousel at a county fair, spending a lazy Saturday morning in his Superman pajamas watching cartoons. He hadn't thought about these things in a long time and he let the overwhelming fondness inundate his consciousness.

"Deanie!" a high-pitched voice cried. Dean opened his eyes and looked around to see a five year old Sam racing towards him through the darkness. "Deanie! Deanie!" The child wrapped his arms around Dean's leg and beamed up at him.

"Hey, kiddo," Dean replied happily, Sam's ebullience impossible to ignore. "How you doing?"

"I'm okay! Missed you a lot!"

Dean ruffled Sammy's hair. "Missed you too, squirt."

Sam's round face suddenly became very serious. "Are you here to get rid of the bad man?"

"Who? The man with black eyes?"

Little Sam looked perplexed. "Black eyes? No, the man with blue eyes."

Now it was Dean's turn to be confused. "Blue eyes? Are you sure?"

"Yes, Dee, I know my colors! I'm five and three months now! I'm a big boy! You said so."

An overwhelming part of Dean wished he could scoop this little cherub up and save him from all the horrible shit that would befall him as he aged.

"Okay, I believe you. Can you show me where the bad man is?"

Sammy pouted his lips as he wracked his five year old brain for an answer. "I think I remember the way, but… it's scary, and it's really cold! I can't find my coat, Dean, the cool puffy one you got me. I think it's in the car but daddy's gone again…" Dean fought to suppress his mother hen instinct but lost it when Sam added "I hope you're not mad at me!" The big eyes and trembling lip and the way that Dean was just absolutely all of Sammy's world.

Dean dropped down to Sammy's level and put his hands on the tiny shoulders, stilling their slight shaking. "Hey, hey, everything's fine. I just need you to get me as far as you can and I'll do the rest, okay?"

"But my coat! You always tell me to 'never leave without my coat! Always be prepared!'" Dean fought to suppress his amusement as Sam tried to impersonate Dean.

He gently patted Sammy's back. "Don't worry about it. I can get you another. You just need to show me where the bad man is first."

Sam nodded then closed his eyes, spinning slowly until he came to a stop facing away from Dean. "This way," little Sam said confidently.

As they walked, Dean listened contentedly to Sammy babble about random things, from what he was learning in kindergarten, to the simple books he was reading, to what he noticed going on in the world. People always say kids are like sponges, but he'd never spent enough time around children to see that in real life, and Dean was still a child himself when Sam was this young. He'd never doubted Sam's intelligence, but it was surprising to see just how friggin' precocious he was!

The air started to chill and Sam's energy seemed to be flagging. He stopped talking and was entirely focused on putting one foot in front of the other. At one point he tripped over his little feet and tumbled to the floor. Dean kneeled down to gather him up. "Dee, I don't think I can do anymore..." Sammy admitted, his voice tight in an attempt to hold back his sob. Teary eyes looked up at Dean. "Please don't be mad at me," he begged.

Dean ruffled his hair and pulled him in close. "Why would I be mad? You did great, kiddo! I think you got me close enough."

"But I didn't get all the way!" Sam was verging on total meltdown.

Jesus, the kid was a perfectionist from the very beginning!

"I don't need you to go all the way. It's my job to take care of the bad man and that's what I'm going to do, okay?"

Sammy nodded vigorously and wrapped his arms around Dean. "Thanks, Deanie. You're the best!"

"Right back at ya," Dean replied, returning the heartfelt embrace. He didn't want to let go but knew he had to continue on. "Alright, Sammy, I gotta go now but I'll see you soon."

Sam pulled back and smiled carelessly. "I know you will! You always come back."

Damn straight I do, even if it takes me a little while.

Dean patted his shoulder and stood up. He walked away and checked over his shoulder every couple steps. Sammy waved to him until he was swallowed up by darkness.

Shortly after he left Sammy, a dense mist began to gather. The small clouds of his breath condensing in the cold air seemed to breed more haze, as if Dean's lifeforce was driving its production. Soon, the fog was so thick he couldn't see a foot in front of him. Instead, he held his hands out in front of him and walked slowly, both hands and feet testing the safety of each step. He walked this way for what felt like hours, but was probably closer to just one. He didn't know. The lack of stimuli was messing with his mind. But judging by the precipitous drop in temperature, Dean figured he was getting pretty close…

His hands hit something solid and he stopped. Wiping away encrusted snow, he discovered it was a wall of hazy ice. He went to the right to try and go around but quickly realized the wall was curved, which probably meant it was curving around something. Or someone. Sam?!

He pawed at the ice, using body heat to clear the clouded layers blocking his view. The friction of cooling hands on the frozen barrier slowly revealed ice with glass-like clarity. Encouraged, Dean worked fervently to expand the window until he could look through it without issue. The moment his brain registered what he was seeing he immediately understood why Missouri felt Sam didn't have much time left.

Encased in what was easily at least twenty feet of perfectly transparent ice stood Sam, nearly completely embedded in the rogue glacier. Sam was almost directly facing him. Scanning his brother from the feet up, Dean noted how the ice seemed to have grown up his gaunt body, of which the exposed areas peeking through the tattered clothes appeared nauseatingly bruised and sickly. Clawing dread inundated Dean's weakening defenses as he forced himself to look at Sam's face. Ice already covered the left side almost up to his eyebrow. His eye was open and unmoving under the freezing prison. A shard of ice was creeping up the right side, following frosted tear tracks from a closed eye. The sudden thought that perhaps all the ice was from Sam's frozen tears punched Dean in the gut and he struggled to breathe. Freak-Sam had said this version of Sam would never stop crying…

"No!" he gasped, forcing his throat to cooperate. "Sam!" he shouted, pounding on the ice with both fists. "Sammy! I'm here! Sam! Please!" he cried, hoping his brother could free himself on account of Dean's sheer will alone. He started clawing at the ice while he continued calling out to Sam, hoping, pleading, begging for Sam to acknowledge him, for any hint that his brother wasn't completely gone.

Out of nowhere, a blinding light burst from the center and Dean staggered backwards, attempting to shield his eyes. When he could see again, he was momentarily confused by the appearance of an unfamiliar person, a man with blonde hair wearing a greenish shirt and jeans. The ice enclosing Sam did not seem to hinder his movement. Dean's brain finally registered that unpleasant high-pitched whine the same moment the man twisted to look at Dean, his radiant cerulean eyes suddenly glowing red.

The man with blue eyes. Little Sam had asked for protection against him.

Brilliant fireworks of panic, fury, and fear exploded in Dean as he realized it was Lucifer. Fucking Lucifer was somehow here as well! Their eyes met and Dean felt his will wither as the fallen angel spoke, his voice inexplicably as pristine as the clear ice, calm and condemning, staking his claim on Dean's little brother, "he's mine."

Lucifer then turned back and plunged his hand into Sam's chest, white light leaking out around the edges. Dean began screaming as he felt his soul starting to splinter under an enormous pressure, though he wasn't sure if the cries of anguish were for himself or his brother.

He knew he was in his mind, but somehow that didn't relieve the suffocating sensation paralyzing his body. Breathing was almost impossible now; he only had one nostril out of which to exchange the frigid air. He had to concentrate so much energy on not panicking so he could breathe, he had such little strength reserved with which to fight Lucifer that the archangel could easily push inside his soul. Every time he did so, it felt like the devil was making a little bit more room for himself and there was a little bit less of his vessel. So when Lucifer appeared and shoved his hand into his ribcage, grasping the weakly shimmering strands of his soul, he felt his last shreds of resistance evaporating like mist under an unrelenting desert sun.

Vibrant electricity thrummed through his body and he opened his eyes to find the source of the tingling. His skin had taken on a glittering, effervescent sheen, as if liquid metal coursed beneath a thin membrane. He felt the muscle and skin on his back stretching, become taut, painful, then excruciating. Finally, massive golden wings burst out and showered everything with bright yellowish light. Looking around, he realized he – or was it now they? – was in a tower, cold grey roughhewn stones enclosing his glorious radiance. Below, inky darkness crawled up the walls, slithering tendrils probing the light, reaching out to ensnare even a single lustrous feather. Above, opalescent light filtered down through a sinewy haze, thin threads of iridescence weaving around glittering insets of precious stones, the rainbow of gems shining proudly as if in defiance of the nothingness so near struggling to quench their brilliance. Around him, jagged cracks and openings in the wall revealed him to be outside of time; he could see memories of eons past and blurry outlines of what was to come.

Forbidden, something within him whispered and he tore his eyes away. A guttural screech dragged his attention down and he saw the creeping tendrils lashing out towards his bare feet. Desolation lay below him and he knew he must flee. Without needing to consciously process it, he beat his wings and drove himself upwards. The fine webs of sparkling jewels draped themselves over his body and wings as he rose into the light. The bedazzlements did not hinder his movement, rather they secured themselves to his being and became a part of him, as if they had always been there.

The further he rose, the wider the tower became, branching off into infinite passageways that stretched away from him, begging him to follow their winding leads. Strong was his desire to part with his mission, but he forced himself to keep climbing higher and higher, up towards the scorching beacon of light he knew to be the first son, his brother.

Nothing but time and distance separated them now, and those barriers were shrinking fast. Soon, he could meet face to face to show his brother that he was right, that his rebellion had not been in vain, that he had known better all along! He was not the failure, the son that had been cast out and told never to return. No, the failing belonged to he who stayed loyal to an absent father! How cruel a betrayal that his big brother would take up arms against him, condemn him as a traitor, when he had only been telling the truth! He would not let sentiment stop him now as it had before; sentiment was made to undermine righteousness. He knew now, after truly understanding the state of the world, that his brother had ruined all that was good since their father departed. It was time to punish him for his shortcomings and restore balance. Upon his brother's destruction, he could reign supreme over a just and fair universe that did not resent ambition, individuality, and prowess. He would not stop to try and convince his brother; the time for reason was past. All that remained was to pierce his brother's heart, watch as the life drained from him, so that he could declare victory and take his place as the righteous son. All he ever wanted would finally be his, he was so close, all he had to do was kill his faithless brother and—

NO! Sam's mind screamed and his flight stopped immediately. This was how Lucifer felt about Michael, but it was not how he felt about Dean. Yes, he was angry at Dean, felt Dean had failed him, thought Dean had forsaken him, but more than that, he knew Dean cared about him in a way no one else had and no one would again. They were human, and no one was perfect, but Dean was as damn close as they came. Dean sacrificed everything for him, even his very soul, and never once complained, only offered regret that he couldn't do better, do more. That was not someone twisted with pride; that was someone giving his all. Sam may have been designed to hold Lucifer, and he and Dean may have been destined to reenact the famous sibling rivalry, but the idiots upstairs had gotten one thing wrong and it would be their undoing: at the end of the day, through triumph and failure, through their virtues and their shortcomings, Dean still loved Sam and Sam still loved Dean. Their egos had not mutated beyond recognition; their prejudice would not sever their bond.

A low hum filled the tower and Sam could have sworn it was Dean's voice. He listened more closely and he realized it really was his brother. Dean was there! He couldn't make out any words but the tone confirmed what he'd only just now realized himself: Dean still cared about him. It was the strength he needed to fight.

"That's the difference between you and me, Lucifer!" Sam shouted into a sudden growing maelstrom. "You've let your belief in yourself overshadow everything else, even how much you cared for your brother, and let it take over! I may be a monster, but at least I have my brother! It's more than you'll ever have!"

Lucifer shrieked in fury but Sam let go, let go of all that he was holding on to, and let himself fall. His wings, no, Lucifer's wings, began to char as they fell, before bursting into full flame. They screamed in unison as the hungry fire consumed the source of the angel's luminous intensity, the light from above fading from view as the darkness greedily swallowed them.

He laughed, actually laughed, and even though it was more than a little hysterical, he had to appreciate the beautiful irony of the situation. Lucifer had truly thought he could turn him against Dean! By what, allowing his own torture to occur and then blaming it on Dean's failure to find him? He almost felt sorry for the angel, that he thought the brothers' bond could be so readily reduced. Perhaps the relationship between Michael and Lucifer had been this easily dissolved, but the same could not be said for the Winchester brothers. Heaven and Hell hadn't kept them apart before, and he wouldn't let it happen now. He gathered all that was left of his soul and pushed out until blinding light illuminated the nightmarish faces and bodies encased in the walls, kept pushing out until the heat began melting the rock itself, kept pushing out until oblivion claimed this battle for itself. He let himself drift down into the peaceful quiet, satisfied that Lucifer had heard his resounding 'no'.

Dean didn't notice when the shivering started, when his nails started bleeding, when he pulled out the car keys and started scratching at the ice, when his eardrums ached from the increasing angel whine, when the shivering ceased, or when his throat stopped making a sound. Exhausted, battered, and hypothermic, he toppled into the glass-like wall and struggled against the façade. He sluggishly wiped at the bloody ice with his sleeve, desperate to see some sign of change, of recognition on Sam's face. The etched ice created a kaleidoscope effect, the myriad facets reflecting as many distorted, miniature portraits of his tortured sibling. Lucifer was still there, up to his elbow in his little brother's body.

"Sammy," he whispered hoarsely, his palms against the ice, "I'm sorry I couldn't be there when you needed me. I let you down and I'll never be able to forgive myself for that. I miss you, I want you back, no matter how messed up everything is. I'm here now and I will do anything, anything to make this right! Please, Sammy, just come back to me, I lov—"

Light and percussive force lashed out from the center of the icy prison and pushed Dean back. The angelic whine became an ear-piercing screech and despite his numb hands moving to cover his ears, Dean felt the moment his eardrums surrendered explosively to the unrelenting acoustic assault. Through his pain, Dean looked up, and though countless tiny cracks obscured his view, he thought his brother was alone. Streams of light seemed to be erupting from his body, jetting out in every direction. One struck Dean and it was like it had physical mass. It started pushing Dean back and he was helpless to stop this forced retreat. He tried to steal one last glance at Sam and though he wouldn't be as sure once he woke up, in the moment, he could have sworn on his life that there was a grim smile on his brother's face and both eyes were wide open.

Latin means (according to Google translate): "Join these psyches and make them as one. Join these souls and make them as one. Open the heart and let it speak true." Intrabit means 'enter.'

Stay healthy and safe out there, everyone! Reviews are love.