A/N: I can't decide if Sam/Dean has become my OTP or if it remains Harry/Draco. Because certainly there is more canon proof for Sam/Dean, but at the same time Harry/Draco can be done in so many different ways. Idk, the pairings interest me for different reasons. Sam/Dean because of the intense connection possible, and Harry/Draco because of the love/hate passion involved. *Sigh*. I want to say Harry/Draco is my OTP, but I'm pretty frigging obsessed with Supernatural, so who knows? Thoughts, anyone? Who thinks that Harry/Draco should be my OTP, and who thinks that Sam/Dean should be my OTP? Anyway, new chappie! Whee! Lol. Please review, guys. Your feedback would be very helpful and much appreciated. Adios!

-CatJetRat

P.S. Cookies to anyone who spots the Torchwood reference.

Chapter 2

Demons

Dean

Dean's eyes twitched slightly as he sensed, rather than saw, the sun coming up. Sam would kill him when he awoke—Dean was supposed to wake him up halfway through the night so Sam could keep watch—but Dean had been too busy relishing in the joy of being able to watch Sam sleep again. Strange, because before, it had been rare that the two of them were ever in enough danger to need one of them to sleep while the other kept watch, but it had happened often enough that Dean had learned exactly what Sam looked like when he was sleeping peacefully vs. what he looked like when he was having nightmares. And oddly enough, despite everything that had happened, Sam appeared to be sleeping like a baby.

It was beginning to look like there had been no need for Dean to stay awake. The night had been quiet, not even broken by the sounds of sirens. Admittedly, Dean was rather surprised. Sure, Lucifer had told them they'd be safe wherever they went, but Dean was not the least bit inclined to trust the Devil, of all people. And the last thing that had happened before Dean found Sam was an archangel about to swoop in and destroy them. Castiel had said he'd hold him off, but Dean knew that it was unlikely Castiel had even survived, let alone defeated the archangel. So why weren't there angels swooping down upon them to burst their eardrums and scorch their eyes? Even if Lucifer could control the demons, no way he could control legions of angels. Which meant…which meant that there were probably a lot more angels on Lucifer's side than any of them ever could have guessed. Dean felt a sinking in his gut as he came to this realization.

A tiny groan sounded from the next bed, and Dean glanced over instinctively. Sam shifted in his sleep, a tiny smile playing across his features. Really, it was odd that Sam was sleeping this contentedly. World about to come to an end, one would think that maybe, just maybe, Sam would be a little anxious. But apparently not. Dean, however, couldn't muster up enough indignation about it to feel anything other than affection as he stared at his little brother. Dean had felt semi tempted several times through out the night to join Sam on his bed and hold him and stroke his hair, like he used to do when they were kids, but he kept himself at bay, if only to be sure that Sam got a decent amount of sleep.

Dean rubbed a hand across his eyes and squinted at the brightening windows. Despite knowing what was out there in the dark, Dean had always been more of a night person. Most likely, that was because most of the strenuous activities he liked to partake in occurred at night. Hunting, pool hustling, bar hopping, entertaining pretty people…there were an endless number of things to do at night, especially in the bigger towns. That was why, when he and Sam had discussed it one boring drive on their way out of Indiana, Dean had decided that if he ever had to become a supernatural entity, he'd choose vampire. Sam had laughed at him and agreed, though he'd said that being a werewolf would be pretty cool too. Dean might have picked werewolf, but he wasn't particularly inclined to say it, as it might bring up bad memories. Sam, however, seemed to have all but forgotten about Madison.

At around eight-fifteen, Sam slowly awoke. Stretching his too-long limbs across the narrow bed, he yawned and squinted at Dean.

"Wha' time's it?" he mumbled sleepily.

"Quarter after eight," Dean said, barely suppressing a grin as Sam shot up in bed.

"What the hell, Dean? You were supposed to wake me up!" Sam's expression of righteous indignation was almost too much for Dean, though he wasn't sure what he wanted more: to crack up or to break down.

Dean cleared his throat. "Doesn't matter, anyway, nothing happened."

"Obviously," Sam muttered crankily.

"Yeah, but the question is: why?" Dean shook his head with a small frown. "Last I checked, we were majorly pissing off both Heaven and Hell, so why aren't they both rainin' down fire and plagues on our asses?"

"Because we weren't pissing them off," Sam said darkly. Before Sam had gone to sleep, Dean had filled him in on the angel's agenda. Sam had promised to discuss it in the morning when he was thinking more clearly. "I freed Lucifer." Sam swallowed, and all for how peaceful he'd been while he was sleeping, he was equally as miserable now that he had awoken. "So now both parties are probably having a little pow-wow and combining their strength." He swallowed again and looked back up at Dean imploringly. "Dean, how the hell are we going to fight both Heaven and Hell if they're both gunning for the apocalypse? I mean, maybe if the entire world was made up of hunters, we could do it, but dude, the only other real hunter we know of is Bobby, and, I mean, I'm sorry, man, but that's just not enough. We don't even have the Roadhouse to go to, so it's not like we can—"

"Sammy, stop!" Dean barked. He couldn't bear to listen to Sam continue to say how fucked they were. Mostly because he was right. "I'm sure Bobby has lots of connections. And you're forgetting about Ellen and Jo. Both of them will be a lot of help in this."

"But Dean, that's five hunters against hundreds, maybe thousands of angels and demons! What can we possibly—"

"Look," Dean said sharply, cutting Sam off again, "Let's just tackle this like it was any other case. Let's just gather information first. See what's brewing and where. My first step?" he added, raising his eyebrows and holding up the remote. "Watch the news. It's likely that anything that's going to happen will be mentioned on there." Dean turned on the television and switched the channel to CNN. He plopped down next to Sam, ignoring his disgruntled sigh. The only attention Dean gave him was when Sam started to shift over. Dean lightly laid a hand on Sam's wrist to stop him. Sam hesitated, and stopped shifting, choosing instead to lean back into the pillows and relax. Dean wasn't sure where the sudden need to have Sam close to him came from. It wasn't like they'd been separated for a terribly long time. And yet…it had felt like forever. Dean actually almost felt like he was coming back home to Sam again after Hell. And he couldn't really resist the need to have Sam close to him at all times, as he had then.

They watched the news in silence for an hour. That is to say, Sam watched the news in silence for an hour. Dean grew bored after about five minutes and passed out against Sam's shoulder.

Dean was having a lovely dream about two acrobat twins when he was roughly shaken awake. "Dean," Sam said, in a voice lace with fear. Dean was awake in one second flat, his brain hardwired to be on instant alert anytime he heard that tone in his brother's voice.

"Sammy?" Dean said warily, scoping out the room for any danger before quickly focusing in on his brother. But Sam didn't seem to be in any immediate danger, and was pointing at the television set. Dean turned towards the screen, squinting through the sleep that had accumulated in his eyes.

"—and late last night the hearts of nine children were cut out by a Catholic priest, who said that the Lord had spoken to him and told him to do it. More on this story after—" The voice faded out as Dean stopped paying attention to the screen and started paying attention to Sam's white face and pinched lips.

"Sam, religious leaders go crazy all the time," he said, in what he hoped was a reassuring tone. "It's part of being religious—"

"No, Dean," Sam said. His voice was shaking. "It was him. Earlier, while you were asleep, there was a brief clip of the priest talking about the "lord". He described him as an unclothed man with curly blond hair, and a face more beautiful than anyone could ever imagine. He said his skin shone with the light of Heaven." Sam's voice turned to a sneer at the end, and Dean suppressed a flinch. Sam looked down, and there were tears in his eyes.

Dean knew what was going through his little brother's head, and he was determined to stop it before it got out of control. "No, Sam," he said, rather harshly. "Stop blaming yourself. Don't you even remember?"

"Remember what?" Sam said, rather thickly, rubbing his tears roughly away from his eyes.

"I started it, Sam," Dean said, and Sam froze.

"You never told me that," Sam said, voice breaking as he stared at Dean. Dean closed his eyes and opened them again.

"I forgot I hadn't," Dean said quietly. "I found out right before Zachariah took away all of our memories. I must have just thought I told you." Dean sighed deeply, steadying himself for this. "The first seal—it could only be broken when a righteous man spilled blood in Hell." Dean's voice began to shake, just as Sam's had. "Cas said that I was that man. I was the one who did it." Dean stared at the ground for a few moments, and then looked back up at Sam with a ferocity that scared even him. "But it doesn't matter anymore. I started it, and you finished it, and neither of us had any idea what we were doing. So we both need to stop guilt-tripping ourselves and start focusing all of our efforts onto stopping him. Neither of us meant to start the apocalypse, but we did. Together," Dean added with a small snort. "But our regret doesn't matter. The only thing that means a damn anymore is doing everything in our power to stop the world from ending. Whaddya say, Sammy?" Dean grinned at him, and though even he could feel the weakness in his grin, Sam smile back. "You want to help me save the world?"

Sam

Sam smiled irresistibly back at Dean as he said, "If anyone can do it, we can."

Dean's smile broadened and he squeezed Sam's shoulder. "Good. I've got to go take a shower, then we'll hit the road; head over to Bobby's." Dean got up off the bed and headed towards the bathroom.

"Fine, but I'm driving," Sam called after him. "You need to get some sleep. Dying in a crash because you can't keep your eyes open isn't exactly the heroic death I picture for you."

Dean smirked back at him and closed the bathroom door.

Sam closed his eyes, leaning back against the pillows. He couldn't quite shake the feeling that something was wrong. There was no reason for him to feel that way, after all, Dean was back with him, and, as Sam had said, together, there was nothing they couldn't do. And yet…it all seemed so fast. Other than last night, they hadn't really discussed what had happened between them, and though things seemed almost as normal with their relationship as it had been before Dean had gone to hell, Sam still felt a little worried. What if Dean was keeping his emotions bottled up, and everything went to hell again with unspoken anger and lies? No, no, before they went anywhere they would need to discuss everything that had transpired over the past year. Dean wouldn't like it, and Sam didn't feel terribly thrilled about it either, but it had to be done.

And then there was that other thing. The demon blood. Ruby told Sam before her death that he had never needed the demon blood to kill Lilith, but that didn't explain all the withdrawal symptoms he had experienced when Dean and Bobby had locked him up. Shouldn't he be experiencing them again? Or had that all been imagined? Or perhaps—and here Sam's blood went cold—perhaps it had been the result of being trapped in a room made of iron and salt, with a Devil's Trap on the floor. But that still didn't make sense. Sam wasn't a demon. Was he?

Sam shot out of bed like a bullet and practically ran over to the mirror. He looked fearfully into his shaky hazel eyes, scared of what he might see.

But there was nothing. Just his eyes, the same eyes that had looked back at him in the mirror for the past twenty-six years. Sam sagged in relief, and then Dean's voice called out to him.

"Sammy! I'm hungry! Let's grab some grub before we go to Bobby's," Dean hollered.

It was a short, insignificant little saying, but it did the trick. Sam's eyes flashed black at hearing Dean's voice. Sam stumbled back in horror, tripping over the bed and landing face first on the carpet.

Nononononononono.

He was a demon.

Dean

Dean smiled to himself as he hummed underneath his breath, toweling his hair dry. He felt more relaxed than he had in ages. He and Sam were together again, they had something to hunt…the world was right again. Okay, no, the world wasn't right, the apocalypse was nigh, but, as Sam had said, together, there was nothing they couldn't do.

Dean wrapped the towel around his waist and went out to the bedroom. Sam was sitting on the bed, about as still as a tree, and Dean instantly went on alert. Something was wrong.

"Sammy?" he said warily. "Sam, what's going on?"

"We have to go see Missouri," Sam said in a shaky voice.

"Why? What's happening?" Dean's heart began to race, and he flicked his eyes to the blank television screen. Had something else come on the news? Something worse?

Sam closed his eyes, covering them with his hands, and made a small keening noise. "Dean," he moaned, and tears began to fall from his eyes. Dean was by his side in a second, kneeling down in front of him and pulling Sam's hands away from his eyes.

"Sammy?" he asked unsteadily. "Sammy, talk to me."

"Please don't hate me," Sam choked out, falling off the bed, and Dean began to experience déjà vu. This was similar to last night, except that now, Dean had no idea what was going on.

Dean forced out a laugh. "Sam, I could never hate you, you know that. Just tell me what's going on. We'll fix it, whatever it is. Remember? Together, we can fix anything."

"Not this," Sam whispered. He finally opened his eyes and looked at Dean. For a moment, his eyes were the same eyes that had looked to Dean trustingly to take care of him for twenty-six years. Then Sam's eyes focused on him, and they turned black.

Dean jerked involuntarily, but he stayed where he was, gripping Sam's hands more tightly. He let go with one hand and reached up, pulling Sam's shirt down and sideways. The protective mark was still there, whole and unbroken. Which could only mean….

"You're a demon," Dean said, in a surprisingly steady voice.

Sam nodded, shutting his eyes again. "I guess so. I don't know if it was the blood, or if it was Ruby, or me, but I think I might be."

Dean wasn't sure why he wasn't more surprised. Perhaps it was because of what Castiel had said about Sam being changed forever if he drank enough blood to kill Lilith. Maybe a part of him knew what Lucifer had meant when he'd said, "all of you," and directed the comment towards Sam. Or perhaps it was because Dean knew that for the two of them, life could never be simple.

"It's okay, Sammy," Dean said, and Sam's eyes shot open in surprise. Dean was relieved that his eyes were back to normal, because it made it easier to tell what was probably a lie, and believe it. "We'll go to Missouri. I'm sure she'll be happy to see us. It has been a while. She'll fix everything. She'll tell us what we have to do, who we have to see. And if she doesn't know, Bobby will. I'm sure there's some cleansing ritual out there for getting the demon out of your soul." Dean grinned, and though to him it felt fake, Sam's eyes shone with hope, and that was worth a thousand lies. "We'll be okay, Sammy. You've got me to protect you."

"Thank you," Sam whispered brokenly. "Thank you." He buried his face in Dean's chest, and Dean wrapped his arms around his little brother again.

Dean knew that he should probably still be angry with Sam over everything that had happened, everything Sam had put him through, but god help him, he couldn't bring himself to be angry when Sam was weeping in his arms, begging Dean to help him. Demon or no demon, Sam was his brother. And it wasn't like Sam had done anything so terrible to become a demon. He had just trusted another demon and drank her blood, all in a misguided attempt to get revenge on the creature who had dragged his big brother to hell. Frankly, Dean was rather surprised that that was all it took. After all, Dean had spent ten years torturing souls, so why wasn't he the one saddled with the demonic might?

It was probably a question he'd never get an answer to unless a top-level demon or an angel was feeling generous one day, so there was no point in killing himself over it.

Dean kissed the top of Sam's head. "Come on, little brother. Let's get the hell out of Maryland and head to Kansas."

Sam nodded, and they stood up. Dean noticed that he was still in a towel, and chose to not reflect on the weirdness of him clutching his brother while nearly naked. Dean got dressed while Sam gathered up their things.

They left the motel room spotless, and if it weren't for a few of Sam's hairs on the pillow, no one would even know they were there. As they drove away, those hairs vanished, as did the memories of them that the clerk had gained when they'd checked in the night before. However, Sam and Dean remained blissfully unaware of this. For a time.

Sam

Dean had insisted upon taking control of the wheel again, affirming that Sam was in no condition to drive, and Dean wasn't that tired anyway. Sam saw right through his bullshit but chose to not protest, mostly because Dean was right. Sam was shaking too hard to even think about trying to get behind the wheel of a car. Especially not Dean's car.

They stopped to eat at a surprisingly good Mexican restaurant, though Dean still grumbled that the only place in the U.S. you could get real Mexican was in Texas. Sam grinned and promised that they'd stop by there after Kansas. Dean grimaced at Sam and continued monopolizing the queso. Sam grinned at him and chose to concentrate on the salsa, which was depressingly weak. Dean was right. Texas was the only place where restaurants had enough balls to give their salsa a real kick.

After they ate, Sam refused to let Dean drive, on the grounds that Dean had nearly fallen asleep at the table. Too tired to argue, Dean handed the keys over and passed out in the passenger's side.

They arrived in Kansas two days later. Dean tried to get Sam to let him keep watch while Sam slept, but Sam convinced him that it was pointless; after all, Lucifer had promised to keep them both safe. Dean wasn't thrilled that Sam was so willing to trust the Devil, but he couldn't shake the feeling that Sam was probably right.

Lawrence looked exactly the same as it had the last time they'd been there, over three years ago. Sam mentioned maybe going and seeing Jenny, Sari, and Ritchie, but Dean refused, and Sam sat in silence the rest of the way to Missouri's house. He was beginning to feel anxious, though he wasn't positive why. But it wasn't good.

Dean

They pulled up in front of Missouri's house, and got out of the car. Missouri emerged from her house, eyes flaring.

"Stop right there," she commanded, and Sam froze. Dean moved around the car to stand next to Sam, frowning at Missouri.

"What's wrong?" Dean asked, though he could feel his entire body tensing. She knows.

"You know damn well what's wrong, boy," Missouri said coldly. "I hope to hell you weren't thinking about bringing that kind of evil into my house."

Sam's face fell, and he looked crushed. Dean felt fury flare inside of him. "Sam's not evil," Dean snarled. Missouri looked at him in disgust.

"He's a damn demon," she hissed, and her entire face was transformed. She looked nothing like the kindly woman who had helped them out and guided them three years ago. She was livid, and terrifying. "And both of you started the apocalypse. How dare you even come near me?"

"We thought you could help," Dean said in a clipped tone. "We thought you could tell us what we could do to save Sam."

She laughed incredulously. "You want to know what you can do? Take that knife of yours and plunge it into your brother's heart. That's the only way you can save him, now."

Dean felt quite ready to take his knife and plunge it into her heart. "He didn't do it on purpose," Dean said angrily. "Neither did I. I'd like to see how long you last in hell before you crack."

"I wouldn't be stupid enough to sell my soul in the first place," Missouri sneered.

"Get in the car, Sam," Dean said, eyes not leaving Missouri's. He heard Sam comply, and he slowly walked up to Missouri. "You have no right to judge Sam, or me. We did the best we could. And unlike you, we spent our lives saving people. You stay here in your cozy little house and pretend you don't know what's going on. And I am sorry that the apocalypse is starting, but Sam and I are going to do everything we can to stop it. We thought you'd want to be a part of that."

"Well you thought wrong," Missouri snarled.

"Clearly," Dean said in an even, cold tone. "Goodbye, Missouri."

He turned on his heel and went back over to his Impala and Sam. "Let's get the hell out of here," Dean said, his voice full of barely contained fury. Sam just nodded, his face white, lips tight. Dean started the car and tore out of the driveway, looking for the fastest route out of that damned city. They would head to Bobby's next. At least they knew they could count on him.

Behind them, Missouri walked back inside her house. She shut and locked her door, went to her kitchen, and collapsed on the floor as black smoke flooded out of her mouth.

A/N: Thoughts? Please review, guys. I know there are a bunch of you who've placed me on alert, and it would be nice to hear your thoughts on my story. 115 more days, 16 hours, 21 minutes until the next Supernatural episode, as I write this now. Adios!

-CatJetRat