What's up, guys?

So I was rewatching Swan Song the other day and it had never occurred to me before how much it would've hurt Sam, being trapped inside his head, watching, during the Stull cemetery scene.

I thought it'd be a good idea to write it down.

...

The pain.

...

And I did it anyway. I must be dead inside.

So, here it is, my first Supernatural fanfic! Re-edited a tiny bit cos I'm a perfectionist. Enjoy!

I never thought this was the way I'd be ended.

I always imagined I'd die. I mean, I have died. Already. More than once. How else does a person go out?

These past couple weeks, all I've thought about is ending myself—inviting the devil into me, then throwing both of us inside the Cage. To save the world I put on the brink of destruction. I could put right all the wrong I'd set in motion. By dying.

But it all went sour. I couldn't control Lucifer. In the end, he controlled me.

Not just my body, my actions, but my emotions, my anger. He took all that rage I had for him and channeled it into a wave of hate and wrath. Lashing out at the people from my past, the demons whom he hated so much. Killing them with my power, my fury.

That was the scariest thing I ever witnessed—Lucifer's brutality toward what he considered lower life forms. In that moment, I had no idea how I could sympathize with him. In that moment, I was terrified of myself—what violence my emotions could incite.

And I hated myself even more for letting...him do it.

But I couldn't stop him. I can't. It was never even a fair fight—the instant he came in, I had no chance. I thought I was ready, but any defense I'd prepared in my mind crumbled to dust in the face of his pure, blinding energy.

Now he's riding me, and I'm powerless. A prisoner inside my own head. Forever.

I won't die. I can't. I'm trapped here, strapped to the comet that is the devil. The one I'm destined to host.

I can't beat him; he won't ever let me go.

So this is my end.

...

We're first to the cemetery.

Lucifer surveys the overgrown field, expectant. Waiting for the person he knows—but half hopes won't—show up.

Of course he does. Wearing an expression too serious and old for the young, fresh face. The face of my little half-brother.

Michael.

Adam! I scream silently, struggling inside my head. Is he even aware like I am? Did he try to fight? What things did they do to him to get him to agree to be Michael's vessel?

I only met the kid once, after he came back to life. He used to be a normal kid, like I always wanted to be. And now he's being ridden by an angel comet. A comet that I sometimes doubt is any better than the one inside me. His life is over. His end is now the same as mine.

And it's my fault. Mine and Dean's.

The angels exchange words, meaningless words of greeting. They seem so civil.

"It's good to see you, Michael."

"You, too. It's been too long."

"Can you believe it's finally here?"

"No, not really. You ready?"

"As I'll ever be." It's the strangest thing. Lucifer, who harbors such poisonous hate for humans, demons, and petty pagan gods, cannot bring himself to hate his brother. He doesn't want to destroy him. "Part of me wishes we didn't have to do this."

"Yeah. Me too."

"Then why are we?"

"You know why," Michael replies sternly. "I have no choice, after what you did."

"What I did?" Lucifer repeats, feigning incredulity. "What if it's not my fault?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Think about it. Dad made everything. Which means he made me who I am. God wanted the devil."

That's not true, I tell him. You had the power to make your own choices. You just chose wrong.

"Why make us fight?" Lucifer continues, ignoring me. "I just can't figure out the point."

"What's your point?" Michael asks, unimpressed.

"We're going to kill each other. And for what? One of Dad's tests. We don't even know the answer. We're brothers. Let's just walk off the chessboard."

I'm genuinely frightened by the words coming out of my—Lucifer's—mouth. They're not threatening, not even malicious. What scares me is that they sound like...like something I would suggest.

But Michael's reply doesn't sound like Dean. "I'm sorry, I can't do that. I'm a good son, and I have my orders." Maybe once Dean would've said that. But he's grown past the grunt phase.

"You don't have to follow them," Lucifer beseeches, genuinely pleading his brother to reconsider.

"What? You think I'm going to rebel? Now?" Michael's—Adam's—voice fills with venom. "I'm not like you."

Lucifer snorts inside our mind. You see, Sam? No one understands. "Please, Michael."

"You haven't changed a bit, little brother. Always blaming everybody but yourself. We were together. We were happy. But you betrayed me, all of us. And you made our father leave."

"No one makes Dad do anything." He's getting agitated. "He is doing this to us."

Michael's expression doesn't change. He speaks, his voice completely devoid of emotion. "You're a monster, Lucifer. And I have to kill you."

I don't know if what he feels is regret or just bitterness. But Lucifer's reply is a sneer, cold and resigned. "If that's the way it's got to be...then I'd like to see you try."

They take a few steps, circling each other. I can feel Lucifer summoning all his power, preparing to go nuclear. While he doesn't want to kill Michael, he doesn't want to die himself. So we'll fight.

I send a silent thank-you up above for my big brother being strong enough to say no. At least now he won't have to go through what Adam and I are about to. The energies of the initial blasts will probably vaporize half the continental U.S.

It'll be all my fault. I started it. And I couldn't stop it.

But before either of the angels can make the first move, I hear a sound that would stop my heart—if it were still mine. A sound that I've gotten so used to over the years, something that's always been a comfort to me. It's a sound that means home.

The Impala.

And there's only one person who could be behind the wheel. Jamming to Rock of Ages.

Dean.

Never mind about him being safe. While he wouldn't say yes to Michael, he just can't take himself out of the crossfire. He just can't let me go, although I want him to. I'm done for; I know that much. The least my brother could do is not make a martyr of himself.

Lucifer bristles inside me, taken by surprise at my big brother's unexpected appearance. He's not happy. Which means Dean should be scared. Dean should be running. He should have Cas zap him and Bobby halfway across the globe to avoid this.

Lucifer didn't kill Dean before. Because, for some twisted, perverse reason, he's trying to...appease me. Cooperate with me. He didn't kill Dean because I didn't want him to.

But things have changed. Now Dean has chased us across the country, and surely Lucifer knows it's not to hold up scorecards for the angel slap-fight. I can hear his thoughts. They're cold, calculated, venomous. This is too much. He doesn't belong here. Sam, what is he doing here?

I can only watch as he slowly, confidently, steps out of the driver's seat. "Sorry, am I interrupting something?"

I have to warn him. Lucifer's angry.

But I'm powerless. Nothing. A ghost, practically. I strain to move my hand, my mouth, anything, to tell Dean to get the heck out of here, to run before Lucifer decides that my happiness isn't important anymore.

Instead of my vehement warning, what comes out of my—Lucifer's—mouth are the words of some sadistic thing that's playing with its food. "Dean. Even for you...this is a whole new mountain of stupid."

My brother takes no notice of the danger, as usual. He's never affected by perilous situations, unless I'm in one. Except now I am the danger. "I'm not talking to you, I'm talking to Sam."

He shoots me a sidelong smile, meeting my eyes as though he's not looking at the devil too, as though it's any other day on a job.

It's not, though. Dean can't fix this. I wish he could hear me, shouting his name, telling him to split, begging him to save himself for once.

Lucifer sighs internally. Pathetic. With one quick thought, he chases me from any hold I've gained, gagging and chaining me in a corner, only allowing me to watch in horror as Dean refuses Michael's orders to leave and tries to talk to our other brother, too.

"Adam, if you're in there somewhere, I am so sorry."

"Adam isn't home right now," Michael says, somewhat impatiently.

Dean doesn't bat an eye. "Well, then, you're next on my list, buttercup, but right now I need five minutes with him." He's barely taken his eyes off me this whole time.

"You little maggot," Michael breathes, his voice dripping with antipathy. "You are no longer a part of this story!"

A deeper voice interrupts. "Hey, a**butt!"

What happens next is a surprise to everyone. Cas, who has come out of nowhere, with Bobby in tow, tosses something headlong into the air, smashing square into Michael's chest. Setting him ablaze.

He screams animalistically, his—Adam's—skin melting off in the heat and the magic of what can only be holy oil. Before he can disintegrate completely, he disappears, taking the flames with him. I hope, only for Adam's sake, he has survived.

Lucifer watches the scene unfold wordlessly, shocked at the sudden turn, angry for the further interruption, and slightly, very slightly bewildered and amused by Cas's unusual expletive.

Dean shares this sentiment, incredulously repeating the phrase, which Cas could have only thought up himself.

Cas shrugs, characteristically floundering. "He'll be back, and upset. But you got your five minutes."

Lucifer is ticked. These last few minutes haven't gone the way he's expected—he needs something to lash out at. "Castiel. Did you just...molotov my brother with holy fire?"

"No," Cas fumbles, unconvincing.

Lucifer talks over him, filled with contempt. "No one messes with Michael but me."

I see the direction of Lucifer's thoughts. No. No, don't. Stop— I push with my mind, trying to utilize the mental power I'd gotten so accustomed to using, the power given to me because of Lucifer. If I could break demons, maybe I can break their creator.

But my strength has no effect on the fallen archangel. It's like he doesn't even notice I'm trying to break free. He simply raises our hand and snaps his fingers.

It's like a bomb has gone off inside Cas, inside his body. Blood, intestines, chunks of him, splatter everywhere.

NO! I scream. I try harder to channel my mind into banishing Lucifer, like I was able to banish all those demons back to the Pit.

But Lucifer isn't a demon. I can't send him anywhere.

Dean takes several deep breaths, steadying himself from the shock of what I just did. He turns back to me, searching our face again. "Sammy? Can you hear me?"

This isn't Sam anymore! Lucifer spits, the impatience overwhelming his forced composure. "You know," he says to Dean, eerily calm. "I tried to be nice. For Sammy's sake. But you...are such...a pain." My hands grasp the front of his jacket. Then, without warning, Lucifer catapults him into the air, causing him to smash into the windshield of the car.

No! I shout, lashing out impotently at the enraged angel. He can't hurt Dean. I can't let him.

Lucifer smirks. But you can't stop me, Sam. Try.

He moves to take a step toward Dean; I fight for control of my legs. But before either of us can really move, there's a loud crack and I feel something enter my back, just below my collarbone.

Lucifer turns, and we see Bobby, aiming his handgun at us, having just shot Lucifer in the shoulder. It didn't hurt, funnily enough. I think we're bleeding, but that's meaningless with Lucifer in me.

Bobby shoots us again, in the heart, and I wish with every fiber of my being that it would work, that Cas could have stabbed me with his angel blade, that they could kill me in some way, because I can't do it myself.

Lucifer looks up at Bobby, his annoyance with the human reaching a peak. He raises his—my—hand, the dark power of heaven flowing through our fingers. He flicks his wrist, and I swear I feel the bones in Bobby's neck snap as though I'd held his throat and broken the bones manually.

It's so quick. The father figure who's always treated me better than my flesh-and-blood father, the last remnant of family I have besides Dean, is gone. Lucifer killed...no. I...I killed him.

"NO!" Dean shouts, the sound half drowned by the horror raging in my own head. We just killed Cas. We just killed Bobby. And I know what's going to happen next. I know who.

"Yes," Lucifer snaps. He strides forward quickly, yanking Dean off the car and landing a brutal punch that draws blood instantly.

Stop! I cry. Dean, RUN!

My brother, selfless idiot that he is, won't. He stares at the blood pooling from his mouth into his palm for a half second, like he can barely believe what just happened.

If my body were still my own, I would've been moved to tears, knowing that he's going to die for me. Again.

"Sammy?" Dean asks again, earnestly searching the face that used to be mine. "Are you in there?"

I want so badly to talk to him, to save his hide for once. Yes! I shout inside our head, trying to tell Dean poughkeepsie, poughkeepsie, it's too late.

"Oh, he's in here all right," Lucifer snarls. He swings again, and Dean reels back several more paces. "And he's going to feel the snap of your bones." He lands another punch, a knuckle-bruising blow to the jaw. "Every single one." I can feel the punch jar through my brother, knocking him to the ground, stunning him. I'm hurting my own brother. Worse than I ever have or wanted to.

Please no stop no Dean run please.

Lucifer pays no attention to me, except to use my pleas as fuel for his vindictive, vicious pleasure. We haul Dean from the ground. "We're going to take our time." He balls up our fist yet again and lets loose.

So this is the devil. He didn't show himself as clearly before, but the evil is there. He is beating my brother slowly to death, piece by piece, for his pleasure and my pain. All that stuff he said before, about wanting me to be happy, about never lying to me—a load of crap. I can never live inside someone who tortures for pleasure. Tortures my brother. To torture me.

I lose count of how many times we hit Dean. I'm sure we've broken every bone in his face, reducing him to a bloody pulp, slumped against the side of the Impala.

He's not fighting back. I know he couldn't do much, but he's just taking the hits. Almost letting it happen, because he can't ever bring himself to hurt me. Never mind the horror in my head as I watch myself hurt him.

I can't.

"Sammy," Dean chokes, reaching up blindly for me—one of his eyes is swollen shut, the other covered in blood. "It's okay."

It's okay? It's okay that I'm bludgeoning my brother to death like some caveman? It's okay that there's this evil thing in my head and no matter how hard I fight, I can't stop him doing awful things with my hands and body?

"It's okay," he gasps again. "I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you."

Why? Why? Why is he saying that to me? Does he think it'll make me feel better? That he's going to die here? By my hand?

I'm not going to die here, probably not. So Dean thinks it's a...reassurance that he's not going to turn tail and run? That I have to live inside an angel, a corrupted angel, for the rest of time? That I have to watch the world end while he gets to check out?

Lucifer takes Dean's statement with injurious satisfaction. I know you're not going anywhere. Right, Sam? He lands another punch on Dean, if only to assert his power over him—and by extension, me.

"I'm not gonna leave you!" Dean repeats, mumbling through his mangled jaw.

I know. I'm going to have to watch him die now. Why couldn't it be quick, like others Lucifer has killed? All those demons in Carthage. The gods at that hotel. Gabriel. Now Dean. This won't be blindingly fast, though. My brother is going to die slowly, in agony, over the hood of his beautiful, beloved car.

The car...

It's almost as if I force myself to stop thinking about it—everything. The world, the apocalypse, all the angels waiting for this fight that seems less and less important. It's like all of that, combined with the desperation to stop hurting Dean, becomes too much all of the sudden. I just stop feeling all the stress because it hurts so much.

I can't kill my brother.

Lucifer rears back for another blow, but something is different this time. Just before he drives it home, the punch that he'd been aiming at Dean's throat, something makes him pause.

Me.

I'm just mesmerized by...by my reflection in the Impala's window. When Lucifer let me talk before, he looked into a mirror. I see myself—well, the evil version of myself—interposed on top of the Impala's interior. And I long for the times when I didn't have a devil on my shoulder.

I can't get them out of my head—images, memories, of all the time we spent in that car. Dean and I, together, and with Dad when we were little.

We scratched our initials in that car. On the back window panel. Kept them hidden from Dad, never knowing if he'd get mad. Never wanting to find out.

We weren't sure if he'd notice the Legos in the vents, either. I don't think he ever did, just complained sometimes about the rattling AC.

He did find the little army guy, though. That was pretty easy to spot. I did that, when I was little, jammed him into the ashtray, somehow maneuvering him into a position I couldn't get him out of. I tried, Dean tried, Dad tried but he was drunk, so we just left it. And as the years went by, we just got used to it.

Why am I thinking about this now?

Lucifer's fist, his unholy wrath, still hangs above my head, waiting to hammer onto my brother. He's not moving. Why doesn't he land the punch?

Then he growls inside our head. Sam. It's a strained sound. Almost like...he's fighting.

Fighting me.

I realize that focusing on the world, hanging in the balance, is too much. I can't try to save the world. It's too big a task. Using those psychic powers I was given isn't the way, either. My desperation, my anger, simply feeds the monster.

Remembering helps. Remembering my family.

I grew up in that car. Made some of my best memories there. The one constant in my life, besides Dean.

More images flash through my mind. All the time Dean and I spent in the driver and passenger seat, occasionally switching, traveling to fulfill our lifelong mission of helping people. The hours in silence, the rare heart-to-heart that Dean would always wave off before we got too deep in emotions.

The word games we'd play as kids, the ones that evolved into tools for Latin as we grew older. The fun and frustration we'd gone through, memorizing the exorcisms. Repeating the phrases to each other, over and over, as the miles flew by.

The music. All the fights we had about music. Dean always won, because we always played his albums. I hardly even know what kind of music I like anymore, because all I ever hear is classic rock. And I don't care.

I remember the night he came and got me from Stanford. Then the night only forty-eight hours later, when he pulled me from the fire. The days and nights after that, his quiet support through my grieving, my nightmares, the blame I put on myself, and my slow recuperation.

In the years that followed, Dean was my one constant. Thousands of instances flash through my mind as my fist remains suspended over him. Lucifer has every intention of pummeling him, but he can't. He's trying, but he can't.

I'm not letting him. My concentration on my good, human memories, are keeping him still.

My life may not have been an apple pie dream, yet I keep mustering up more and more instances that made me happy. All with my family.

Lucifer was wrong before. He tried to tell me that I'd felt out of place with my blood relations all my life, that my real family was with the other blood running through me. He almost convinced me.

But the demons aren't my family. They never did anything for me but feed my hate, my darkness. Only the broken man in front of me has ever built me up, made me happy, made me want to be better.

The last image I land on is one of Dean and me. In that ramshackle house, after I died and came back. It was the first proper hug we'd had since I left for college. I hadn't been the steadiest at that moment—it was my brother, my big brother, who'd saved me without me even knowing I'd needed saving, who held me up then.

Now it's my turn.

That punch never lands.

SAM! Lucifer shouts, but I have no inhibitions now. No restraints. With one huge, massive mental push, I shove him from the controls of my mind. And my fist opens.

My face contorts wildly, I feel it, and I realize that this is the face I've been making all along, but of course it hasn't been visible. But now my expressions are on my face. I gasp for air, briefly having forgotten that I'm in charge of breathing again.

I'm in charge.

I'm back in control.

Lucifer shouts in frustration, attacking the inside of my head with so much force that it feels like a white-hot nail is being pushed through my skull. I don't know how long I have, or if he can overpower me again. I don't feel very powerful. I just know I can't let Dean down.

He's slid down the side of the car, sprawled out on the ground. Through all the blood and bruises, he stares up at me, bewildered.

I try to smile at him through the pain. "It's okay, Dean," I gasp, repeating what he told me a minute ago. It's my turn to reassure him. To save him, like he saved me from countless things—including myself. Somehow I won. I couldn't let Lucifer kill him. I just couldn't bear it.

"It's gonna be okay. I've got him."

I've won. I've beaten the devil, but there's not much time—or cause—to celebrate my victory. Because I know what I have to do now.

I reach slowly into my jeans pocket and pull out the rings that Lucifer stashed there. Every movement is a struggle. The angel inside me is fighting back, hard.

I let the rings fall to the ground. Recite the incantation Dean taught me.

There's a blinding flash of light, and the ground caves in on itself, opening to reveal the same black hole as before, when Lucifer had first come into me. Although it's different now, because as we looked at it the first time, Lucifer had no intention of jumping in. It didn't feel as foreboding as it does now, as I imagine hurtling downward through that void.

This is the culmination of a year's struggle, of a lifetime of my fighting darkness. I know exactly what I need to do, have every intention of doing it.

I just...don't want to.

I stare at my brother, slumped on the ground, shielding his face from the wind. I know that as much as he needs me to do it, he doesn't want me to. How can I leave Dean? He's so...so lost without me.

That's not important. My toes are inches from the edge. I have to go now. Before Lucifer takes over again.

"Sam!" I whip around at the voice to see Michael, completely healed again, with that same calm expression. He must have guessed what happened, what I did. "It's not going to end this way. Step back."

His entreaties harden my determination. "You're gonna have to make me!" I choke out, struggling against the forces, both inside and outside my head, trying to move me back from the hole.

"I have to fight my brother, Sam," Michael says. There is no doubt, no waver in his resolve. "Here and now. It's my destiny."

No. There is no destiny. Didn't we prove that? I was destined to become the devil. Dean was destined to kill me. The world was destined to end today. But none of that is going to happen. I have the power to stop it all.

Destiny can come with me, I retort silently. Because I'm ready now.

I take one last look at Dean, who still just watches. I love you, brother. Then I close my eyes. Outstretch my arms.

Falling is easier than jumping.

Before I can tumble into the abyss, I feel a hand on me, pulling me back. Hauling me from the edge.

At first I think it's Dean.

But it's Michael. He's got a hold of my arm, trying to keep me topside. He's shouting, I think,but I can barely hear him. All he wants is to fulfill the destined ending. To keep me from plunging into oblivion.

I'm bigger than he is, though. I take hold of him, too, and let gravity do my job. We fall together.

Lucifer screams.

...

The journey is shorter than I anticipate.

All of a sudden I'm not falling anymore. There's the sensation of a jarring impact, but no pain.

It's dark. Silent, except the echoes of my breathing. I'm lying on something...something rough and...moist. Stone, wet stone? Bloody stone? I don't want to know.

The temperature in here is...muggy. A little too hot, like the inside of a car that's been in the summer sun too long. Steamy. Uncomfortable.

I strain my eyes, trying desperately to see my surroundings. I'm in a defined space for sure, but the shape of the walls, the confinements, keep shifting and melding. I can't see anything else.

Suddenly my body arches upward and I'm blinded by light, as I was when Lucifer came into me. The energy of angel grace pulls at me from within, tugging to the point of pain, until our connection snaps. The light dies.

I'm free.

And then everything comes rushing into me—the reality of my surroundings. The searing heat, so hot and painful that I see red, the sharp pains all over me of injuries that Lucifer didn't bother to heal. And the angel now standing over me, fiery rage radiating from his form.

This is interesting, isn't it? He doesn't speak aloud, but I hear his voice all the same, like he still shares my mind. A human, body and soul, in my Cage. I wonder what we can do with you.

Through the heat, I still manage a shiver of fear. This will be worse than what Dean endured, or my dad, and there'll be no escaping for me. Ever.

Ultimately, I did choose my own end. I don't know if this is better or not, though.

This is the price I pay to save the world, to save my brother.

I hope to God it's worth it.

Okay, wow! That was...is fun the right word?

Again, this is my first spn fic, and I'm not sure if I got anything at all right. I'd love some feedback! Negative or positive, leave a review please! A huge, flowery (if you like flowers) thank-you to the three reviewers so far.

As always,

Thank you for reading KylerM. :-)