Picks up during the beginning of 5.4 The End

Some dialogue taken from the show to remind you where we are in the story. (Can you believe it's been almost 10 years since season 5 aired?!) No copyright infringement intended.

Warnings: Language, mentions of suicide, violence, temporary death. Very angsty, lots of hurt. May change rating if I feel it exceeds what is depicted in the show. Please message me if you feel I should change the rating.

Readers of 'Road Trippin' with Lucifer', I haven't given up on it, but my muse refuses to play nice. I'll keep trying though! Enjoy this in the meantime. :)

"So, you're his vessel, huh? Lucifer's wearing you to the prom?" Sam grimaced internally. He hated that expression, especially because now he was the 'dress'.

"That's what he said." He struggled to keep the tremble out of his voice.

"Just when you thought you were out, they pull you back in, huh, Sammy?"

"So, that's it? That's your response?" Dean's apparent apathy cut him deeply.

"What are you looking for?"

"I don't know. A—a little panic, maybe?" Sam fought to contain his own.

"I guess I'm a little numb to the earth-shattering revelations at this point."

"What are we gonna do about it?"

"What do you want to do about it?" Dean sounded like he couldn't care less.

"I want back in, for starters."

"Sam—"

"I mean it. I am sick of being a puppet to these sons of bitches. I'm gonna hunt him down, Dean."

"Oh, so, we're back to revenge, then, are we? Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time."

"Not revenge. Redemption."

"So, what, you're just gonna walk back in and we're gonna be the dynamic duo again?" His sarcasm was acidic.

"Look, Dean, I can do this. I can. I'm gonna prove it to you." His determination withered as silence answered his declaration.

"Look, Sam, it doesn't matter, whatever we do. I mean, it turns out that you and me, we're the, uh, the fire and the oil of the Armageddon. You know, on that basis alone, we should just pick a hemisphere. Stay away from each other for good."

"Dean, it does not have to be like this. We can fight it." He was almost begging.

"Yeah, you're right. We can. But not together. We're not stronger when we're together, Sam. I think we're weaker. Because whatever we have between us, love, family, whatever it is, they are always gonna use it against us. And you know that. Yeah, we're better off apart. We got a better chance of dodging Lucifer and Michael and this whole damn thing if we just go our own ways."

"Dean, don't do this." Moisture crept into Sam's eyes.

"Bye, Sam." The click punctuated Dean's dismissal. Sam threw the phone into the passenger seat and pressed his foot down on the gas pedal.

"Dean!" he cried out, tears blurring his vision. "Dean," he begged to the air, "don't make me do this alone… I can't… I can't do it…" He pounded the steering wheel and fought back a violent sob. He pulled off the highway and allowed himself to weep openly. Tears and snot covered his face. He looked around for tissues, a cloth, anything to clean himself up. Moonlight glinted off the gun nestled in his duffle bag and he placed his hand on it. It was tempting… one press of his finger and it would all be over.

Then Lucifer's words came back to him: 'I'll just bring you back…' He drew his hand back as if burned and scrubbed his face. He focused on breathing and releasing the tightness in his chest.

Coffee. He needed coffee. He wiped his face on his sleeve and pulled back onto the road. He turned the radio on and felt his heart skip a beat when Metallica reached his ears. He quickly changed the station and tried his best not to drown in the grief threatening to overcome him. He cemented his attention to the broadcaster's bored monologue about the pollination benefits of mosquitoes.

"Mosquitoes are actually critical for agriculture as we know it," the expert being interviewed was saying. "Male mosquitos live off of nectar, it's only the females that are blood-suckers."

Against his will, Dean's words came back to him. 'Listen to me, you bloodsucking freak. Dad always said I'd either have to save you or kill you. Well, I'm giving you fair warning. I'm done trying to save you. You're a monster, Sam - a vampire. You're not you anymore. And there's no going back.'

A strangled cry ripped from his throat and he slammed his boot to the floor, desperate to be away from all of this, any of this, anything that reminded him of his brother and his failure and the goddam Apocalypse. He was grateful that the next exit was five miles down the highway. He wasn't sure he could make it much further.

Killing the engine, he gripped the steering wheel to still his shaking hands. Stop being such a little bitch, he chastised himself. He swung himself out of the too small car and into the minimart, ignoring the pang of nostalgia as he thought of the countless times he and Dean had made such stops as they crisscrossed the country. Regret constricted his airway and he staggered against the coffee machine, suddenly excruciatingly aware of all that he had lost.

He and Dean had split up before, but there was a finality to Dean's words and tone that told Sam this time was different. Even with Lucifer looming over his shoulder, or maybe because of that, Dean wanted nothing to do with him. In Dean's mind, them being together would only expedite the Apocalypse. Everything they had worked so hard for, everything Dean had sacrificed, all for nothing because Sam had fucked up. Sam had ignored the myriad warnings given to him by his brother, the angels, even Chuck. He thought he knew better and he had damned the world with his arrogance. Shame paralyzed his body and he fell to his knees.

"Sir?" a concerned voice broke through his grief. Unwilling to face any level of scrutiny, he picked himself up and fled the bright lights of the convenience store. He scrambled for the safety of his stolen car and gunned it.

Letting his body function on autopilot, his attention drifted to his situation. He was on the run again, bolting from the bar to protect Lindsey. He couldn't bear the death of one more innocent at his hands. The memory of Cindy's screams and begging rang in his ears and he fought his urge to vomit. He pushed down the cries and the bile, focusing on his task at hand: hiding from Lucifer. Lucifer wanted him as a vessel to end the world. Just when Sam thought his life couldn't get any worse, the universe landed the worst known evil in his lap. He was Lucifer's true vessel. Had his entire life been for this? Was everything that had happened to him, his mother's death, Jess's death, his father's death, his death and Dean's deal, all of it, was it for this?

The nausea returned as he considered his defiled body. And he had added to it, willingly, arrogantly thinking he knew better, thinking that he could control himself and the power the blood gave him. In retrospect, he saw that he had been played and he'd fallen for all of it. Humiliation gripped him and his spirit suffocated under the weight. No wonder Dean wanted nothing to do with him. Dean's cutting words drifted into his mind: "Because it's not something that you're doing, it's what you are! It means… It means you're a monster." His worst fears confirmed by the one he cared about the most. It was something Lilith had wielded against him in his moment of doubt: "You turned yourself into a freak. A monster. And now you're not gonna bite? I'm sorry, but that is honestly adorable." Her taunting is what had pushed him to finally kill her. His worst fears used to mock him by the one he hated the most.

His reverie was broken by the sound and associated shaking of the car engine sputtering. In the seconds it took him gather his attention and survey all the gauges, the car came to a complete stop. He growled in frustration and grabbed a flashlight from the glove compartment. He got out and popped the hood, trying to remember anything Dean had taught him. He suppressed all the memories associated with that thought.

He was so focused on the task at hand that he didn't hear the footsteps approaching until it was too late. He turned a half second too slow and spun directly into the fist of his assailant. He slumped to the side only to caught by another. The headlight pressed against his face and his eyes ached as the bright light ruined his vision. He felt his arms wrenched behind his back and the bite of cuffs around his wrists. He was dragged up by his hair and made to stand. He blinked against the dancing spots in his vision but it was no use.

"Sammy," a familiar voice cooed and he froze, fear curling up his spine. "Shoulda known we weren't gonna let you off so easy."

"Tim, please, you don't have to do this," Sam pleaded.

A rough hand gripped his jaw. "You've got no right to beg. Now, we can do this the easy way or the hard way. Your choice."

Sam grunted and brought his knee up to Tim's groin, satisfied with the yelp of pain he heard.

"Fine, the hard way it is," Reggie said. He pushed Sam back and his head clunked against the engine block.

By now, Tim had recovered and was looming over Sam. His eyesight had returned enough to see the bottle in Tim's hand and the dark liquid inside sloshing around. "I can help you kill the demons, but please, not like this."

Tim snickered. "No, Sam. I tried it your way, and it got my best friend killed. Now, we're doing it my way. Open up."

Sam clenched his jaw shut and turned away, the heat from the engine blistering his cheek. Tim grabbed his shirt and pulled him forward. Sam kept his mouth firmly closed as Tim popped the cork out and wafted the blood under his nose. He smiled as he reached forward and pinched Sam's nose. Sam tried his best to hold his breath, but his body chose survival after forty two seconds of burning agony. The moment Sam parted his lips to gasp for air, cool glass entered his mouth. The lukewarm blood poured in, coating his tongue. Using all his core strength, Sam flung himself up in an attempt to fight. Tim kept the bottle pressed to Sam's face as Reggie gripped his shoulders and swept his legs out from under him.

Sam struggled against their grasp, his attention torn between freeing himself and not swallowing the blood. He was desperate to resist but another part was ready to give in. Ready to surrender to the profane power pumping through his veins. Maybe he could— no! He had to spit it out! He renewed his attempt to escape but Reggie had his arms pinned and Tim's hand was firmly clamped over his mouth. Another hand closed around his neck and air became scarce. His body betrayed him as his throat swallowed convulsively, dragging down both saliva and blood in a frantic quest for oxygen. He felt the familiar warm fuzz as the power seeped into him. He wanted to cry, though he wasn't sure if anguish or relief was the dominant emotion. He stopped fighting and his tall frame sagged.

"You drink all of it, freak?" Tim hissed, turning Sam's head with a rough grasp. Sam's eyes danced wildly as panic sparked like a live wire in his brain. "I think he got it all. Now we're gonna go clean up your mess!" He punched Sam as hard as he could. The young hunter's body slumped and his head hit the pavement with a dull thud.

They each grabbed an arm and put it over their shoulder, awkwardly moving Sam towards their vehicle. They unceremoniously dumped Sam's body in the trunk of Tim's white and faded red 1985 Chevy Blazer Silverado. Well aware of the Winchester reputation, they gagged Sam, took his phone and weapons, and put another pair of cuffs around his ankles. This monster wasn't going anywhere.

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