A/N: Okay, in my part of the universe HOTG hasn't happened (yet?).

After watching the last episodes of this season and then, finally, PONR I really think something like this chapter must have happened to Sam at some point of the story. Everything you are about to read has been planned weeks before PONR and after watching it I was really surprised at how well this story fits into the current story-line. To cut a long introduction short: I wanted to give Sam a chance to finally get some of his issues off his chest and since Dean was too caught up in his own "epic man-pain" (god, I love that term!) to be of much use I found someone else.

Some of these parts... well, a lot of these parts actually, may be hard to read, may even sound (too) cruel but please trust me, it will finally make sense.

This is dedicated to one of the most awesome characters that ever showed up on the show AND to my co-author (there, I said it!!! Hehehe!) Ghost4 who not only betaed this beast but also held my hand and kept me going whenever I just wanted to quit. Thanks, hun, you have no idea how much your help is appreciated and how much I LOVE our chats! You are still one of the main reasons I'm still watching this show.

Summary: Have you ever wondered how Sam went from "I killed Jessica" (s1) to "we didn't exactly pull the trigger" (5.18)? Well, this is my attempt at how he could finally have got over it.

Title and quote taken from Jon Bon Jovi's "Santa Fe" from the Blaze of Glory album.

If the devil has his way

...

Once I was promised absolution,
there's only one solution for my sins;
you gotta face your ghosts and know with no illusions,
that only one of you is going home again.

...

"Hey, yo, Sam, long time no see."

The deceptively cheery voice literally comes out of nowhere.

The young man sitting on a partially-rotten park bench beneath the overhanging branches of a weeping willow doesn't flinch; he keeps staring at the small pool of murky, brackish water in front of him. The dark, washed-out hood of a pullover hides most of his pale face, leaving only a few strands of stringy, brown hair visible. He is sitting hunched over, arms wrapped tightly around his middle with his hands buried deep into the sweater's pockets as if he is cold. Tired, hollow eyes blink sluggishly, the only part of him that is moving at all. His breathing is shallow, not even deep enough to cause his chest to visibly rise or fall.

Time seems to stand still for a moment as whoever has spoken seems to wait for a reaction from the silent man.

There is none.

"I gotta tell ya," the voice comes again, "it's good to see you alive and kicking instead of depressed and brooding. I wouldn't know what to do with you if you didn't answer me…" The voice is laced with sarcasm, drifting closer to the tree as if the invisible speaker is slowly sauntering over to the bench. "… or acknowledge my enjoyable presence."

A flash of light, then there is suddenly a human figure hovering above the water. Arms spread wide at his side like a game show host welcoming his audience. He is wearing an expectant smile on his lips, as if waiting for applause. His stunningly white, spotless suit casts a reflection on the water and seems to glow in the bright afternoon sunlight. He looks down at the silent man and raises an almost disbelieving eyebrow when there is no reaction at all to his appearance.

"Come on, Sammy… Sam? Winchester?" He all but sneers the names, then tilts his head slightly, studying the other, a dangerous, yet playful glint sparkling in his eyes. "Bitch?"

Slowly, empty eyes crawl over to the floating man's brown leather shoes. They stay there, study the laces lazily, blink occasionally. He waits for a few beats, rolls his eyes in annoyance and gives an irritated sigh.

"You make talking to a brick wall look like a walk in the park, you know that?" Another sigh when the younger man doesn't move, just keeps staring. "You even in there?"

Suddenly the silent man's head jerks forward as if he is smacked in the back of his head. His body moves slightly with the force of the 'blow', but then simply rocks back to its original position. This time there is a reaction as he hunches his shoulders a little more, seems to curl into himself further. The other man on the water rolls his eyes, closes them for a moment, and then shakes his head slightly.

"Okay, so you don't wanna talk…" The man's eyes narrow dangerously. "Fine, write me a letter then!" He throws his hands in the air with a frustrated growl. "Why don't you start like this: 'Dear Gabriel, today I really feel like shit 'cause some asswhipe of an angel made me cry!'"

Again the man on the bench jerks slightly when something hits him in the side of his head and bounces off, falling right into his lap. His head moves down a fraction and it seems as if his eyes focus on the bright-pink diary complete with a small, golden heart-shaped lock and a tiny key dangling next to it. He keeps silent, just looking at it, which causes the angel to heave an exaggerated sigh.

"You surprise me, Sam, really. I've always figured you'd be more the girly type, I mean all that too long hair and the let's-talk-about-it-attitude... What about this then?"

A hand waves through the air and the diary changes, morphs into a worn, leather-bound journal. One the man on the bench knows very well.

"Come on, Sammy, open it, there's some great stuff in it, your daddy sure knew how to make the most trivial things sound interesting. Did you know that a wendigo can only eat meat? That a poltergeist is immune to the name of God?"

He leans forward, lowering his voice to a conversational tone, "Did you know that there are half a dozen ways to plot how to kill your demonic son? Without said son ever realizing it…"

Their eyes meet, pain and exhaustion gazing up at unconcealed smugness and self-satisfaction.

"Good, you are in there…" The angel leans forward even more, gazing into tired eyes intently. "I need you out here, kid, we need to talk."

He watches how the other blinks slowly, focuses on him, and seems to realize for the first time that he isn't alone anymore. Recognition, closely followed by anger, flashes across weary features, before they settle into a helpless grimace of tired misery. And then, as if it takes too much energy to keep it on the grinning man's face, the younger lets his gaze drop back to the leather boots.

Something changes in the angel's expression, where there has been a playful smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth the whole time, there is now a tightening of his lips and his eyes narrow.

"Okay, princess, you wanna play hard to get? Fine, I'm in."

He straightens, still standing on the water, his body language changing from good-natured to serious in a heartbeat.

"Enough napping, it's time to wake up. It's time to fight."

He studies the bowed head and seems to come to a conclusion.

"And I know just the arena for this—"

He snaps his fingers…

… and they are not in Kansas anymore.

The hooded man sways violently as he adjusts to the fact that he is now standing in the middle of a dark room. His body doesn't realize the difference between sitting and being upright fast enough for him to catch his balance and he stumbles, reflexively reaching out into the darkness to find something to steady himself with.

There is nothing.

He lists awkwardly to the side—and then goes down, landing on the floor with a surprised grunt. He is back on his feet the next instant, body automatically reacting, his earlier exhaustion forgotten as he scans the dark with wide eyes. It takes some time for them to adjust to the darkness of the place after the bright light on the clearing and he doesn't move besides cocking his head to the sight to listen to the silence around him. His arms are raised in front of him in a defensive posture, guarding his front, waiting for an attack that never comes.

"It's alive!"

He flinches at the sudden, triumphant shout and whirls around, facing a barely visible shadow that is once again floating a little over the ground. The figure moves slightly and the sound of clapping hands echoes through the room, followed by a teasing drawl.

"You know you had me worried there for a moment, kiddo, I was almost afraid you'd brood through all the fun. Welcome back to the world of the mentally challenged!"

Slowly the hunter drops his arms and while he loses the defensive stance he is still tense, eying his opponent wearily. "What do you want?"

It is the first time he speaks and his voice is low and scratchy, as if it hasn't been used in a long time. The other man studies his still hooded face for a moment, then starts moving toward him, floating on the air much as he had on the water. He navigates around something hidden in the dark with such ease it seems that he, unlike the hunter, can see just fine.

"I want to know what he told you." he says, walking toward the unsteady hunter.

"Who?"

"Kyriel."

The young man flinches back as if struck, the back of his legs bumping into something he can't see and he almost goes down again, just barely manages to catch his balance in time. His hectic movements finally dislodge the hood and strands of stringy, unruly hair fall into his eyes, hiding them more efficiently than the fabric ever had. He makes no move to brush the bangs away, just glares at the other from beneath them.

"Ask him then," he growls and reaches out behind him, letting his fingers brush across something solid. "He's your brother, not mine."

A smirk meets his glare.

"Weeeell, I could…"

Slowly, the angel lowers himself to the ground, is no longer floating. He studies the young hunter, cocking his head to the side while his eyes narrow.

"But I don't want to."

"Why not?"

"Actually, it's more fun watching what he did to you."

His lips twist into a wide, mischievous grin and he points repeatedly at the taller hunter as he keeps talking.

"I want to know how he got through that Cro-Magnon skull of yours. Remember that lesson I tried to teach you?"

The younger man flinches again, though not as violently as before, and tries his best to look nonchalant. He isn't very successful but the other doesn't seem to care.

"You never really got it, I never got through to you and boy did I try…" He pauses for emphasis. "Kyriel did. And I want to know how."

Dark eyes widen in alarm and the hunter takes a step back, his gaze darting across what little he can see of his surroundings. He remains silent, doesn't utter a sound. When he finally realizes that there is no escape he raises his chin in defiance and crosses his arms in front of his chest protectively before regarding the angel with a challenging stare.

All that earns him is an amused snicker. "Awww, come on, Sammy-boy, don't be like that, I'm sure he didn't tell you anything you didn't already know."

The 'boy's' shoulders tremble slightly and he drops his gaze, stares at the angel's hands before looking back up, unflinching.

"Shut up. Please… can't you just leave me alone?"

"No."

Silence follows as they stare at each other, waiting for something.

Nothing happens.

Finally the angel lets out a deep, almost suffering sigh and his face hardens for an instant, and then suddenly breaks into another of his amused grins. "Tell me something, Sam, do you even realize where we are?"

A flick of his wrist and suddenly the room is illuminated by bright light. The taller man groans slightly and raises a hand reflexively to shield his eyes as he is forced to squint.

They are standing in a church with rows of wooden pews forming an aisle in the middle. The pews are untouched, arranged in straight lines, some of them decaying, others looking as good as new. The altar at the far side of the room is made of white marble, the left corner broken off and lying in pieces on the floor. A massive wooden cross is mounted to the wall behind the altar, but the model of Jesus is tilted to the side— it almost looks as if he is toppling off the cross and trapped in mid fall by the nails in his feet. It looks just wrong and the younger man winces when he sees it.

The high, stained-glass windows framing the aisle throw washed-out colours on the opposite walls creating the illusion of imaginary creatures chasing each other as the sun moves slowly across the wall. The large heavy wooden doors at the end of the aisle are closed, locked from the inside with a wooden beam that is nailed to either side of the door.

"I know you liked your stay here last time so I thought, what the hell give the guy a break and get him some place safe…"

Looking very pleased with himself the angel opens his arms and waves at their surroundings, as if inviting the squinting hunter to have a look around. He watches as the young man takes in the details for a moment, and before the hunter can say a word the angel points at something behind him, a weird, hostile glint flashing through his eyes.

"And look, big brother is here, too!"

His smile widens when the hunter turns slowly and looks.

As impressive as the cross and the doors are, they are not the most prominent feature of the high room: on the right side, beneath the windows and illuminated by a light that seems to come out of nowhere, hangs a picture. It shows a blond man looming over a hideous fallen creature. He uses the tip of a long, red pole to keep the monster on the ground while his other arm raises a sword behind his back, ready to strike, to kill. White wings stretch from his back and his right foot is pushing the creature down, poised directly in the open mouth of his adversary. The horned creature is writhing beneath him, trying to get out of his hold, one of its clawed hands raised, swinging a mace in defence of the sword. It is snarling up at the man in with a hateful sneer, but, pinned to the floor by the foot and the pole, it doesn't have a chance to get up. It is overpowered.

In short, the picture shows the archangel Michael killing the Devil, Lucifer.

The shaggy-haired man's eyes are drawn to the picture immediately and he stumbles back from it, almost trips over the row of chairs behind him in his haste to get some distance between him and the painting. His hands start shaking uncontrollably and he whirls around, eyes darting around the room frantically, as if looking for something. Whatever it is he doesn't seem to find it, after a thorough scan of the hall he wraps his arms around his middle and turns back to the angel, tries to glare at him but fails, causing the smaller man to answer with a mocking grin.

"Feels good to be back here, doesn't it?"

"Why did you bring me here?" The hunter doesn't quite manage to keep the shiver out of his voice, tries too hard for casual.

The other feigns surprise, cocks his head to the side. "You really have to ask that? I need to protect them—" He leans closer as if sharing a secret and whispers, "—from you."

The angel grins when the dark-haired man backs away and he follows him, step for step. "Apparently just being close to you kills them, so you should be as far away as possible from good people. Wouldn't you agree? Let's lock the monster up in a cage so that everybody is safe and sound and they can live happily ever after. That's what you want, isn't it? That's what you secretly dream about!"

"Shut up…" The words are choked, barely audible.

He doesn't, still following the retreating figure, cornering him with words he spits at him, faster and faster. "I know that's what you're thinking, Sam, I know for a fact that's the only thing you can think about right now. Cause it's true."

They reach the wall and have to stop. Pained, dark eyes flick around, searching for away out, away from the hard gaze that is bearing down on them. They find none and the miserable expression turns into one of despair as a broken whisper ghosts across the distance between them. "Is it?"

The room falls silent, they don't move, just look at each other, one standing straight and tall, the other hunching into himself, becoming smaller and smaller, almost too small for a man his size.

"You tell me." The voice is hard, but still it carries a note of sympathy.

The broken man seems to search for something in the angel's face, looks at him as if he has the answer to the most important question of his life, but the angel stays silent, only watching as the broad shoulders slump. The young man slowly steps away from the angel. "Just… leave me alone."

The angel snorts at that, shakes his head as the man backs off a step. "Sure, I could do that, leave you here until the world forgets about you and you can finally disappear off its face… " He watches how the shoulders relax for a fraction before they tense up again as he adds, "…but I won't."

Why not? The question is clearly visible on the young hunter's face and even though he doesn't say a word it hangs heavily between them. There is no answer and the young man becomes agitated, unclenches his hands a few times, pulls a shaky breath, blinks repeatedly. His voice is soft when he finally speaks, a mere whisper at the beginning which gradually gets stronger.

"Don't you see… what I've done, the choices I've made… I've killed people, Gabriel, they died because of me! I should be locked up! This is what I deserve!"

If he has expected sympathy for his outburst then he is disappointed, the angel simply studies him before giving him a look one might have expected from a teacher whose student has finally been able to solve a difficult puzzle. He even claps his hands.

"You're getting angry… Finally! Good, that's good, Sam, that's really good!"

"Good?" The incredulous exclamation is accompanied by an utterly dumbfounded expression. "I get mad and people die, Gabriel! Don't you get that?"

The angel shrugs it off, just like that, obviously not taking the young hunter's desperation seriously.

"So what? You aren't allowed to get angry? You have to suck it up and sink it down? Nobody can do that forever, Sam, not you, not your brother, not even your father."

The young man takes a deep breath, looking away for a moment, then back, determination written all over his face. "I have to, Gabriel, I have to or people I care about die." His voice grows stronger. "I've learned that lesson, I won't make that mistake again."

"Man, they really did a number on you…"

The angel shakes his head almost sadly and takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly.

"Okay, Sam, let's do this your way..."

He leans back against the altar behind him, crosses his arms in front of his chest and makes a show of getting comfortable on the dusty surface. The other watches with a mix of fascination and barely concealed disbelief how he literally pulls a bar of chocolate out of thin air and rips the cover off with his teeth, then begins to munch on it with pleasure. He catches the wary gaze and cocks his head at it, then grins widely, holding the half-eaten candy out.

"Want some?"

A slight shake of the head is the only answer and he merely shrugs, finishing the bar and dropping the plastic wrapping to the floor. A glass of what looks like red whine appears next to him and he raises it in a mock toast, taking a sip of it before focusing his attention on his companion.

"Okay, tell me something, Sam-who'd you kill? Who is dead because of you?" He makes it sound like a casual question despite its serious content, as if he is talking about the weather.

The hunter stares at him incredulously, before shaking his head slightly and turning away from him with a low growl. "Shut up…"

"Ah, no no no, you won't get away that easily…" The angel jumps up from the altar and starts stalking down the aisle, slowly advancing on the row where the younger man is leaning tiredly against a chair, his back turned to the smaller man. "Come on, Sam, let's hear it, start talking already, who did you kill?"

The man's jaws works as he fights to keep silent and the angel rolls his eyes, studying the tense shoulders for a moment. "Okay, I'll start: Jessica. Did you kill her?"

The shoulders flinch visibly and there is a quiet gasp, then the shaggy head lifts slightly, but the young man doesn't turn.

"You know, if you ask me, I think it really was your fault. I mean, come on, you had visions about her death for days before she died so you could have saved her."

He stops briefly, taking in how the body in front of him turns completely rigid.

"You know what you should have done? You should have gone back to her and told her about how you were dreaming about her burning on the ceiling, just like your mother."

Fists start to clench and unclench at the hunter's side while his breathing becomes deliberately deeper as he fights for control. The shorter man seems oblivious to the signs of distress, keeps talking, voice hardening to an angry snarl.

"Because you knew from the start that this was not just a nightmare, Sam. You knew, even then, that you were tainted with blood that gave you visions. Because dreaming of your girl dying in a fire just like your mother a few days before the anniversary of her death is a sure sign that every shrink worth his money would identify as demonic visions the moment you told them!"

He is yelling at the end of his tirade, his accusing voice echoing through the high hall and bouncing off the walls. His steps take him closer and closer to the other man whose shoulders have started trembling with barely suppressed rage. And still the angel doesn't stop neither his approach nor his words.

"Tell me, Sam, how did it feel to set her on fire? Wait, how did you get her up there in the first place? Didn't she struggle a lot? Did she cry? Did you have to tie her to the ceiling or did she just stay pu—"

"SHUT THE FUCK UP!"

His handsome face twisted into a grimace of sheer fury the hunter whirls around in a flash, swinging a fist that isn't shaking anymore at the point where the other's head has been only a moment ago. The punch meets empty air, causing the enraged man to sway before he finds his balance again, his wild gaze searching the church for his tormentor.

"Why should I? You're just too much fun to play with!"

He finally spots the angel standing on the altar at the far wall, looking down at him. The hunter glares back, narrowing his eyes in anger at the amused grin that starts to spread over the other's lips. He opens his mouth to say something, but the shorter man is already talking again, giving him an almost proud smile.

"You know what, I'm impressed with you, Sam, how you've managed to fool everyone into thinking you had nothing to do with her death is a really impressing feat. You should be proud of yourself! Way to go, tiger—"

"What the hell do you know about anything?" the hunter snarls at him, clearly getting agitated at the taunts.

The angel shrugs, casually brushing the question off. "Nothing. Everything. Fact is, you killed her, Sammy." He watches the furious hunter for a moment, judging, then adds as an afterthought, "Maybe you even wanted that, huh? Get rid of that life, the one you've always felt you didn't fit in…"

The hunter's eyes grow wide, incredulous. "I wanted normal, I wanted her! She was what made me fit in—"

"—and she was what made you see, every single day, that you could never have it, that life of picket fences and happy families. You looked at her, and you knew normal was never going to happen for you!" The angel is shouting at that point, fixing the younger man with an accusing glare. "You couldn't stand that… that constant reminder of just how damaged you were, how tainted… so you got rid of it!"

"NO! She loved me! And I loved her—" He runs a nervous hand through his hair and winces when his opponent cuts him off again.

"If you had loved her you wouldn't have left her!"

"I wasn't leaving her! I was coming back!" The man's voice is rising again, taking on a slightly desperate note. He doesn't seem to realize that the angel is watching him closely, noting his every wince and denial, almost as if he is waiting for something. His reproachful voice doesn't change though; if possible it gets even harder, more aggressive.

"No, Sam, you were running away from her at the first opportunity you got! Why don't you just admit it?"

'Cause it's not true—" He stutters to a stop when the angel suddenly raises his hand in the air in a typical stop-it gesture and cocks his head to the side, studying the hunter with an arrogant smile.

"I don't even hate to tell you this, but it is."

Obviously still stunned by the sudden interruption the hunter just stares at him for a moment, then huffs almost disbelievingly and turns his back on the other man, growling under his breath. "Bite me!"

His words cause the angel to laugh out loud. "You really want me to? Cause, you know, I could…"

The hunter suddenly whirls around, yelling. "I want you to shut up and let me go!"

The angel isn't impressed at all at the outburst, he merely watches him with an innocent who, me? expression. "I'm not keeping you here, you don't want to leave, Sam. You think they are safe from you if you are locked up in this shack!" He leans forward, lowering his voice. "And we both know Jessica would agree."

"No! You didn't know her. She loved me... she... she…" His voice fails him and he chokes on the words, losing the fight against his emotions.

"—died because of you." The angel supplies helpfully, adding the next words with a sad smile, "You killed her!"

"I didn't kill her!" The anguished shout reverberates through the high hall, but the angel just laughs at it, shaking his head as if talking to a disturbed child.

"Oh, but you did, Sammy-boy, you killed Jessica, you killed your precious girlfriend!"

"No!"

Chest heaving, the younger man stares helplessly, his body tensing as if he is preparing to leap over the rows of seat between them to stop the gloating man. They stare at each other, one of them fuming while the other does nothing to hide his obvious satisfaction at the misery he is inflicting. And he doesn't stop.

"But you could have saved her."

Unable to reach his tormentor, the hunter suddenly moves, kicking the chair in front of him while a furious outcry fights it way out of his throat.

"I didn't know! I didn't know, okay? I thought they were just dreams, I was scared something would happen to her, sure, because I loved her—but I didn't know they were visions! I didn't kill her!"

A second chair goes flying away from him, crashing into the first row with so much force that the heavy wooden seats scrape over the floor. Again there is a long moment of silence in which the younger man stares off into space, breathing heavily, while the other watches him, not moving, carefully studying him.

"I bet you never said that out loud and believed it, did you?" For the first time the angel's voice is low, sympathetic. "How does it feel?"

There is no sound to be heard but the younger man seems to deflate at those words. He stumbles forward, catches himself on the back of one of the chairs and sinks down on one of the rotten seats. He starts trembling, hard, wraps his arms around his middle and hunches over, hiding his face behind long strands of stringy hair.

"Why are you doing this to me?"

He sounds as if he is in pain, his question a weak, breathless whisper he has to fight to get across his lips.

Again there is a flutter of sympathy on the angel's face and he suddenly appears at the far side of the pew the broken man is huddling in. His voice is just as low this time but the words lose nothing of their insistence.

"Because you need to wake up, Sam." He slowly walks closer. "This infection has been festering inside you since the day she died, you have to cut it out." He sits down on the back of a chair in the middle of the row, balances carefully on it. "You have to get over it."

A choked off sob, followed by more shivering. "But she still died because of me, if I hadn't been there she—"

"—and if not for Yellow Eyes, and if not for your mother's deal, if not for the angels, if not for the demons—I hear you, Sam..." He breaks off, watches how a shaky hand brushes back some strands. His voice softens a bit. "Let's face it; you're a factor, not the cause. And it's about time you get that into your head."

Some of the strands fall to the side as the head turns slightly and suspiciously bright eyes blink up at him tiredly. "It hurts…"

The angel nods slowly, smiles almost sadly at him. "I suppose it does…" He stops for a moment and thinks about it, takes in the hunter's weary gaze and the dejected slump of his shoulders. His tone is sincere when he adds, "Of course it hurts, Sam, if it didn't you wouldn't be human."

The hunter eyes him suspiciously, seems confused by the sympathetic words, as if he cannot believe they are coming from the angel. He doesn't seem to be able to react for a moment, then shrugs slowly, turning his head back and staring numbly at the back of the seat in front of him. "Whatever…"

The angel watches, doesn't move, doesn't say anything. He sighs, tiredly.

And then, as if a switch has been flipped, he drops his compassionate smile and the sneer is back. "Right, back to the monster issue. Forgive me, what was I thinking, you can't talk sense to a lowly creature…" He claps his hands and straightens, the unexpected movement making the hunter jump slightly in surprise. "As entertaining as this might have been, I'm afraid I have to be going now; there are some lessons I have to teach…"

The hunter's head snaps up at that and he turns slightly, watching how the angel moves away from him. A surprised frown appears on his face and he looks as if he might say something. After a moment he decides to stay quiet and leans back, arms crossed in front of him as his gaze slowly wanders down to the black wood of the chairs. When the angel finally turns to look at him the younger man seems oblivious to anything but the furniture next to him.

"You go on and wallow in your misery or whatever it is you're doing. I'm leaving. For a while, anyway… Have fun!" The angel steps over to the stone table but stops suddenly, as if he remembers something. He turns back, adding with a cruel smile, "In case you get thirsty, how about a bottle of holy water, Sam?"

His cheery voice is still echoing through the church even after he disappears in a flash of bright light, leaving the hunter to stare at a plastic bottle that has materialized in the middle of the stone table. He turns slowly, taking in the empty church, his gaze lingering fearfully on the painting next to him before he finally slumps forward and curls in on himself. His lost, tired voice is almost drowned out by the silence.

"I'm sorry..."