Chapter Text
Sam took a deep breath, running his hand down his face. Casti- no, Godstiel - had gone MIA. The reports of a trenchcoated savior (or killer, depending on the day), had dried up. He didn’t wanna be found, and Sam didn’t really wanna find him. What would they even do? Or say? Would Cas just kill them instantly for trying to betray him? But Sam might as well have been talking to a brick wall for all the more Dean listened. He sighed, continuing his search for cases to occupy them so his lovesick brother didn’t get them killed. “A simple salt and burn just a few hours away. Perfect. Just the thing we need to relax a little,” he thought to himself.
“Have you ever actually relaxed a day in your life or have you always just committed arson to take the edge off?”
Sam snapped his head up. “You can’t be-you’re not,” he said, struggling to comprehend what was in front of him. “You’re dead, Gabriel.”
“Nope,” Gabriel said, enunciating the ‘p’ with a pop. “Don’t get me wrong, Lucifer came real close,” he took a few steps toward Sam. “But I survived and made it out of that god awful motel to come to this god awful motel. Would it kill you guys to stay at a Hilton?”
Sam was white as a ghost, eyes fixed on the angel. “Why?”
“Because they’re so much better than-”
“No, Gabriel,” Sam said angrily, “why did you come here?”
Gabriel sighed. “Look, in all honesty, I felt kinda bad. For faking my death, again , and not coming back to help with Lucifer or your soul or Cas-”
“Oh, I get it now,” Sam said, his eyes fading from afraid to tired. He let out a humorless chuckle. “Just go. Just leave me alone.”
“Sam please just hear me out-”
“I said GO!” Sam yelled. Gabriel disappeared.
“Gotta admit, one of my more convincing creations, huh?” Lucifer said from Sam’s bed, leaning up against the pillows.
Sam shut his eyes tightly. “He’s not real, he’s not real, he’s not real,” he thought to himself, taking deep breaths. When he opened his eyes, he was once again alone. He focused his attention back to the laptop, jotting down details about the case.
---
“Sammy? Hey, you with me?” Dean asked, snapping his fingers in front of Sam’s face.
“Huh? Yeah, just uh lost in thought I guess,” Sam said, tearing his gaze away from Lucifer who was brutally eviscerating the couple in the booth behind them.
Dean eyed him suspiciously. “Yeah, okay.” He didn’t believe Sam for a second. “Why’re we even considering this case?” he asked, bringing the conversation back to the topic at hand. “I mean, don’t we kinda have bigger fish to fry?”
Sam squirmed uncomfortably in his seat as he watched Lucifer slurp up the intestines. “Cas is in the wind and Crowley went back to whatever hole he hides in. We can’t exactly fry fish we can’t even find.”
“Yeah I guess you’re right,” Dean said, sipping his coffee.
“I have a special for you,” the waitress said, setting a plate of various breakfast foods in front of Dean. “And a western omelette for you.” She set the plate in front of Sam. Lucifer was drinking the woman’s blood with a curly straw, directly from her chewed-up heart.
“Actually, can I get a box?” Sam asked. The waitress nodded and walked away.
“You feelin’ alright?” Dean asked, his suspicions returning.
Sam poked his omelette with the butter knife. It broke open and blood pooled on his plate. His face contorted in disgust. “Yeah, just not hungry.”
Dean shrugged, poking his fork over and stealing a piece. Sam watched as blood ran down Dean’s chin and coated his teeth. “What?” Dean asked around his mouthful of eggs.
“I gotta go,” Sam said, jumping up from the booth and running to the bathroom. He locked the door behind him and quickly thanked every deity that it was a single occupancy bathroom type of place. He leaned over the toilet and violently threw up. “ I just gotta act normal. I don’t need Dean worrying about this with all the other shit he has going on,” he thought to himself as he stood. He flushed and walked over to the sink, washing his hands and swishing some water around his mouth to get the taste out.
“The eggs really that bad?” Sam spun around, surprised. His eyes darkened with anger when he saw the angel. “Listen, I just wanna talk-” Gabriel said, holding his hands up. “I get that you’re angry with me, and you have every right to be.” Sam narrowed his eyes distrustfully. “But I really do wanna help you figure out my idiot brother’s mess. You of all people should know what that’s like.”
Sam’s jaw tightened. He said nothing, just wordlessly slipped out the door, making sure to avoid looking at Gabriel. Gabriel sighed, disappearing.
Sam made his way back to the table and saw Dean, throat slit with his head laying in a mixture of syrup and blood on his plate. He gasped, reaching out to grab Dean’s shoulder.
“Sam, hey,” came Dean’s voice from the door. “C’mon, let's go.” Sam looked back to the booth and saw it was empty, and the table contained only a few dirty plates and a cash tip. He shook himself out of it and briskly walked to the car.
---
Dean sat on the bed of another no-star motel, cleaning his pistol. “You feelin’ good enough to go tonight?” he asked.
Sam looked at him, confused, as he packed rock salt shells. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Well that’s the third time you’ve tamped that shell,” Dean said, looking up from his gun, “so I wanna make sure your head’s in the game before we go get ourselves killed on a routine ghost bust.”
Sam shook his head, sealing up the shell and moving on to the next one. “Yeah, Dean, I’m fine. Just thinkin’ about how we’re gonna handle this whole Cas thing,” he lied.
“You’ll die bloody, just like this,” Lucifer said from somewhere behind Sam. Sam flinched as he felt Lucifer’s hand pierce through his chest. He looked down and saw his own, still-beating heart. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Lucifer was gone.
Luckily, Dean didn’t seem to notice. “Yeah, me too,” he said, putting his pistol back together. “We’ll figure somethin’ out Sammy, we always do.” Dean stood from the bed. “I’m gonna go load up the car, meet me out there in 5.”
Sam finished packing the last few shells and loaded up his gun, tossing it in the duffle. “Pull your shit together, you can’t let it get to you on the hunt.”
“She’s buried at Highgate,” Gabriel’s voice came from behind him. “Plot 83.”
Sam didn’t even turn around before he walked out to join Dean.
---
“How the hell do we even begin to find this bitch?” Dean asked as the pair hurriedly made their way out of the house with the would-be victims. “We have no idea who she is or what she wants,” he said, shutting the Impala door behind the scared civilians. “She’ll kill again unless we stop her.”
“Highgate Cemetery, plot 83,” Sam said as they slid into the front seats. “That’s where we’ll find her.”
“What makes you so sure?” Dean asked, dropping the survivors off at a gas station up the road.
“Just a hunch.”
The two drove the short distance in silence, focused on the task at hand. They whipped into the cemetery, jumped out of the car, and ran over to the mausoleum containing the plot. A ghost, the same ghost that just tried to kill them, flickered into sight with a scowl on her face,
“One hell of a hunch Sammy,” Dean said, shooting her with the rocksalt. She vanished. “You break her open, I got your six.”
They laid a line of salt at the mausoleum door. Sam beat the concrete nameplate with the sledgehammer, watching as cracks spiderwebbed across it. He heard shots ring out occasionally from Dean, who stood outside defending the barrier. Finally, a hole appeared. One more hit and he was through. He ripped away chunks of stone, clearing the way for salt, lighter fluid, and a pack of matches. The ghost went up in flames within an inch of Dean, her attack stopped in its tracks. The two hurried over to the car, escaping the scene before anyone saw the desecration.
“So level with me Sam, what’s goin’ on?” Dean asked. “Cause you’ve been acting weird since the fight with Cas. You’re zonin’ out on me all the time, you’re not sleepin’ well, you’ve been skippin’ meals, and now you just happen to know where this unidentifiable ghost is buried?” He glanced over to Sam. “Are you havin’ visions again?”
“Sammy I think it’s time you tell your brother about us. We’re pretty serious after all,” Lucifer said from the back seat, wrapping his arms around Sam’s chest from behind him and licking the back of his neck. Sam flinched, and this time Dean noticed.
“Yeah,” Sam said, taking the easy lie. “They’re more vague than they used to be-”
“I can make ‘em crystal clear for ya,” Lucifer growled, showing Dean choking on his own blood. He was losing control of the car, there was a cement barrier-
“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?” Dean asked, hurt.
“There’s so much shit goin’ on right now Dean, and I didn’t wanna add to it,” Sam said, telling his brother the truth. At least partially. “I can handle the visions, really, and if any of them seem important, I’ll tell you.”
Dean sighed. “Alright. Just promise me you won’t hide shit from me anymore, okay? We’re all we’ve got, and we gotta be able to trust each other.”
“Okay,” Sam agreed, feeling a pang of guilt for lying to his brother.
“You don’t have to feel guilty for lying to him, Sam. He’s not even real,” piped Lucifer from the back seat. Visions of the cage flashed in his mind. “I’m real and Dean’s real, I’m real and Dean’s real,” he repeated in his mind, staring out the window into the black, abyssal night.